females
lovers
yachts

forbidden fruit (eden)
little hole (eve)
Yahweh (tizzop)

friends
luck
yack

turn every letter around turn warriors
into choirboys allergic against weapons

turn vampires into
humans

turn around: somebody behind you
spying each letter you gotta

be better
don't turn the page NOW
the paper'd simply fly downwards into hell
with you

besides: the book of your life will end soon enough

I once bought a box of fresh strawberries
from the market
I've hated strawberries all my life,
but not because of how they tasted,
how they smelled,
or how they looked.
To be honest, I've never really eaten
a strawberry before;
but I just knew I'd hate it.
People think that it was just because
I was a picky eater;
that I wasn't up for trying new things.
I hated strawberries because
people thought all girls were supposed
to like them -- their taste, their scent.
All sweet and innocent and pure and nice.
I hated how they expected me to be
confined in a pink, dainty box,
expected me to like or smell like
fresh fruits and honey,
all sugary and giggly.
So I bought a box of fresh strawberries,
put one in my mouth,
and the rest in the bin.
I still hate strawberries,
but for more reasons now.

Uncertainty clings to my mind
like morning due to brand-new greenery.
I know not what weeds lurk unseen
nor of the beauty that has yet to be

should I remain a lone flower
sheltered in the shield of a sepal
in waiting for my hour of opening
unprotected to the **** of people
yet fully alive, honest and free.

OR am I that withering ****
in need of severing with one Swift swing .
harsh enduring and ruthless
a hideous prickly mess
growing at the price death

one day will I grow to bare a beautiful fruit
or
draw blood from those that pull on my root

Fruits of the Earth's broken slate
juice and sweet and tongue
flowing; reddest spate.
Tonight and forever, we are young
tell me I am not the only one
that wants to live, worshiped by the sun.
Summer whispers in my ear
plump lips, scrubbed skin
boy is water, boy is clear.
Everything that can be, has been.
All and every arm, a' laid in
and every glutinous youth atoned of sin.
Suffocating desire
lust, sing the choir.
Fresh and raw
succulent sugar-dried flesh
after Winter's aching thaw.
Taste me, test me, core and all.

I am
A dark sploch
dancing in the
orange glow
wavering, undecided

It is dark
So dark and deep
and I wonder
Why is there only one?
One circle that
fades from a tangerine
to a shade so black
It's the inside of blueberries

I wonder,
Where did the
glowing seeds
disappear to?
Why have they
not replenished our stock,
our sky?
They have been blotted out
By the pumpkin light

I stand in the shine
And I fall in the shine
Just as the bulb
Flickers
and
Dies
and the seeds
appear once more

This is forbidden;
You and I.
Like the moon and the sun sharing the same sky.
Our hands weren't meant to touch,
But they did,
And in that moment it all became too much.

We are forbidden;
You and I.
We are the reason Angels cry.
Our lips weren't meant to meet,
But they did,
And nothing else could ever taste as sweet.

We are the ones who planted the forbidden fruit.
Don’t fight it-- Let the seed of desire and sin take root.
We have tasted the knowledge,
Good and bad,
We have left the garden, for good, only to remain unfed.

You and I are forbidden.
Outcasts, lepers, and rejects.
We are the fruit you so humbly deny.
We are the everlasting sigh.

The fruit that grows from our tangled limbs are sweet and ripe.
The leaves that sprout from our hearts are twisted and right.

Taste us.
Taste us.
Taste us.

"Forgive us," We chant.  

they're only words that we've inherited
an outline we've decided
history's absurd parameters
the language we've provided
as if trust in our alignment
to a violent set of precepts can be merited.

     Civil Culture?

It's a culture of the owner
simple values we've inducted
printing match sticks out of loners
when the world is deconstructed
do you measure up or fold it
you reduce the world to numbers
blew the lid off feuds abundance
knew the billionaires would fund it

     What's it mean?

Doesn't matter.
it's a remnant
not a battle.
don't dissect it
never tattle
golden goose
baby rattle

stolen goods
failing castle
swollen foot
gravy saddle
smoke and soot
pale and fragile
cut the fruit
use a scalpel.    

     This is...

     Strange fruit.

There I was in my almost clinical white coat
Looking like Yoko Ono, oh no, didn't realise it at all.
Strolling all around the front square,
You in that tan coat stood there,
Looking like something out of  Harry Potter, I presume.
I'd clocked you at the protest a year before,
And you fell for me that first day,
Early September, leaves not yet falling
Me eating an apple a day.
It was the last fruit of summer,
I was still in love with someone else
And as summer became autumn, and is now becoming winter,
I honest to god can't tell.
I can't help myself.
I can't help myself.

You in our second meeting- but the first 'meeting'-
Acting like my very existence was bad for your health,
All this merging and converging like its two countries joining together,
I knew that you liked me, in ways you've liked me forever.
But I wanted to make him come back to me, wished on a spirit
To take him back to me, wished for the truth and- what did I see?
The last fruit of summer, an apple tree.

I was so nervous, I bit my lip so hard it bled,
I come from the Hughes', I lie then, instead.
Your red filaments, burning, yearning, twisting, turning,
Kissing me and hugging me like you've never wanted to hold onto a thing so tight.
I feel like a wild horse penned in, flying by night.
Because I know that you're mad about me
Honest to god I wish I was too,
But I don't understand what stops me from letting go and loving you.

It was the last fruit of summer,
The final kiss from the earth,
I wore all black, you in florals
Me not knowing my worth.
I want to take it slow, and you agree,
You'd agree to anything I want because it's me.
You and your artistic set, fashion-obsessed,
Everything I could ever want, everything you could ever spend.
But nothing that I really do want, in the end.
And I ask for the truth, to the apple tree,
I tell them- oh god- is this ruining me?
I cut it and eat it piece by little piece,
'I can't help you, darling, so just sit back and eat.'