FRUIT

The sun is high.
Take a look.
But there's nothing higher
than the lisp you lend or weld.
Yes, I said "weld."
Actually, I meant "allergize" or "tea" or "me."
Take a look.

You'll see the sun swaying in the sky.
And I can see by your outfit, your
talons and your marching orders
that you are a hand-puppet.
Yes, I said "cowboy."
And, puppet that you are,
you've taken every penny
you've ever lived with
and called "heads" one
too many times.

Your life is segmented.
Take a look.

Look with your eyes open, not your teeth out.
And use your hands,
they're as palpable as that gust of probability
that laid you flat until your tallow exploded
and your entrails holed up.

Somewhere in the afternoon,
lit up like a log jam
on a coffee break,
there's quiet.
And what's more, I won't be quiet
and I won't make sense.
What I will do is bark incessantly.
Your nose knows this
and so does your bottle
of face-tightener.