Tear off pink leaves
Lining silver spears of fruit
That hang to be
Pressed, beaten, ******
Turned Yummy into
Zorb’s first taste of
Magnetic hazy swirls, pulp
Floats to the surface and
Reflecting in the juice,
Contained in the grainy, clear
Plastic cup, is the fluorescent apron
Of his purple hued waitress
DO NOT spill that platter of
Warm Grabtov Cakes
Chef Remi hollers
Sporf Sprinkles, Cremb Crumbs, Pinch of Flour
Sector 02 harvest labor wages inflating
Simultaneously as these stomach do
French pressed black dust
With Tulken cream fresh from the
Open void of Farmer Joe’s glowing lime cloud fields
Stop in
Galactic highway quasar X68G
A diner stop on route to EGS-zs8-1
Spiriling towards vacation,
the silken lava beaches
of blackhole and distant quasar ULAS
Filling the infinite time
With Coffee and Cake

In the great primordial ocean
the tides of your mind
find stillness
Returned from the edge with wings widespread
running jagged up the cliff
like birds in flight
A clear cut of liquid, green and black
predators with unblinking
eyes
Exalted in the rush of the first hit of green sticky
the wind on the garage door
like the sound of shadows
Newport reds and no hope, only the black things
in the dark, dates and
water