mission figs and God's good graces

  
 
   
sitting at the table  
eating mission  
figs  
   
while listening to  
chamber music  
by my old friend,  
Purcell  
   
one fig after another  
   
and I still don't have  
any answers to  
life  
   
in the sky  
the sun laughs  
   
the birds turn to  
turds and fall  
from the trees  
   
the last fig  
gone  
   
(like  
you)  
   
i wash my  
hands

drink some
water 
   
go upstairs  
to rest
   
and join the  
dead for a
little quiet
 
I lie
there:
 
thinking
 
feeling
 
knowing
that
 
the world  
trembles  
 
and  
sooner  
or  
later  
   
everything  
falls  
apart