City Fruit
Skin cut
split flesh
to share
with no one
(anyone?)
unsown seeds
fall
to
the
dry
concrete
starving,
picking at what’s left
of its own dry bones
yearning to taste
the imaginary fruit
before
sucking the marrow dry
and relishing beauty
that
once
inhabited
this
rotten
core
4 thoughts on "City Fruit"
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Ugh. Feels, here, today.
Indeed, Joseph Allen Nichols. Many thanks for reading. <3
good poem…even a rotten core holds seeds and
the dry concrete has cracks
Thank you, Jim Lally. Yes, hope is always present. One only needs to seek its presence to know that it’s there.