the taste of persimmon after the frost its sugar clinging to my yearning lips born of a precious seed once be’lieved lost concealed within a field of rosen hips a musky perfume hangs upon the air arisen from a garden doused in dew the tender tended fruit does swell and flare as the silken petals…
Tag: Fruit
Desert Plum
Drop it all leaving it behind in the back of my mind racing towards the unseen edge of an endless road to possibility the spirit of america calling to me – it’s rasping rotting in the dry heat of a setting southwestern sun – I’ve never taken drugs but I want to watch the world…
Piecework Prose 