my sister is picking fruit, tummy aching
with the weight of a second basket;

my mind three steps to the left
of my skull,
i ask for pomegranates

(the sun is dead that watched me
last time i ate.)

my sister says:
"there are no strawberries"

my sister says:
"there are too many raspberries"

i need something
the size of
my fist, bursting
with red cells and life
to swell my chest, ground me
here

like a phonebox, my heart
can barely hold one person
before we start to bruise each other,
peach soft, blushing
dark and aching,
as each mistake rots through
to the pit of my stomach

juice runs down her
fingers like old blood

plasma gilded, scabbed
and spilled, please
give me thicker skin,
cake me in rind and membrane
to hold the magma in.

The travel is long and arduous
Any end of way is nowhere near
A slow witness to season’s fast rush
He treads the motion of another year.

Sometimes resting on nights dark and starry
He wonders why life needs to race in hurry
When like him by just slowing down the pace
Could be reached a piece of peace and happiness!

Men would mock him for his vast slowness
Absence of speed his lack of progress
How would they know he never grew the lust
To set himself a goal and try to reach it fast.

The more paths men travel the more they seem less
Like going round in circle coming back to same place
Forever dreaming an ascent aiming the peak’s height
Chasing a gain to attain a light at end of night!

He moves on in the way the soil patiently waits the rain
Never unhappy to be left behind never scared he might fail
Just trekking along with no end of way no destiny’s pain
In the embrace of his belief for good reason he’s a snail.

I was given birth to capture and freeze
The volatile moments of the world
To pick up the things from
the scatological lands
And from the pageant
To portray the elites and
downtroddens
And those on the pavement
I celebrate their happy occasions
I attend their funerals
I am bound to write their obituaries too
I am humanitarian
and the foe for the sceptres
As i throw up their    
Surreptitious objects and pleasures
I raid; i am invited
I am glad with both
I am blessed
I have become the voice of the men,
birds and beasts
I have crossed 175 years
Still i am in spring days
Nothing can damage my youth
This is the might of the pen

****
i wish we could drop acid
on a rolling hill like earthly ocean
waves,
summer breeze swiftly rocking
us back and forth in the
twisting realities, and
folding, condensing, expanding
visions, exploding in our
open, wide eyes.

i wish i could kiss you
and feel flowers grow from
your lips,
my ******* turning into
opening roses
soft and voluptuous under your
persistent hands.

get grass in my hair,
and count each and every one of the
angrily pulsating stars above us
as we lay naked somewhere
where reality can't breach.

let me comfortably say after
that i have lost my virginity;

because it'll be the first time i've ever
made love to a god.