The roots are deep,
leaves wide,
flowers
edible,
You just want to bring them
to your mouth
and taste
Whatever bitterness
has been distilled
from feverish sun,
The one we circumscribe
pulls free
from the fungus
bed
Where death is daily turning,
the crypt like a compost
cylinder hard to spin
That burns out shoulders
rocking endless
cradles.
There is no hope
only consequence,
all actions glide to
resistance,
The conflicted pair
all knotted up
and intertwined
With all one's nothingness,
the play of the mind
on what will happens
As the worms turn
the dirt
and the sun massages
strawberries,
Who will one day too
fall to seed,
that thing
That our life seems
to wait for, rely on,
the seed.
