A New Fruit

   
The world stares    
at my fingers    
eating strawberries    
in the inglenook    
I can still steal fire    
trusting god    
after man's vain trumpets    
delivered a lifeless moon    
   
Egos dance    
hapless around the truth    
shame claims    
its notch above death    
the scale of despair    
shining hollow upon holy apples    
grown in Hollywood hills    
   
They said soon    
no more banana skeins    
all ankles shall be untied    
though will I remember    
how to run    
when plastic blindfolds melt    
with one more day    
to heat up    
   
At dawn on the ridge    
a peasant stands shyly    
with his gun    
but I can already hear    
false prophets shriek   
their whistling knell of knives    
dividing an orange sky  
into portions  
fit for doom