falling fruits

i was at blue rock climbing trees and pretending my stuffed malfi was a fruit. i climbed that big ass dirt trail up to the rocks and let the winds dry my sweaty shirt.. overlooking views, being blinded by discovery kingdom's sea of parked cars.. straight up vibrating the reflection of sun. i had some pent up creative writing juices ready to ooze.. i was staring at my painting of a half tree half woman kinda limping over. thought flailing was a cool word.. and ran with this.


i limp flailing
to the bell curves of the winds
these elements that im in
climbing to the ends of the limbs
i lean along the pulse of her skin
tapping the bark
hearing chatter in what stems across
in patterns of dashes and dots
but i hesitate to let up and surface the dirt
halfway my eyes peek over the crust of the earth
see for the first time
a sprout inching from seed
with a dimple on the top of me becoming a leaf
this is the wait of a lifetime
veins to a lifeline
this is the weight of the earth held down by my wayside
and ways that i've been accustomed to this whole time
have everything to do with fruit falling off vines
before this, i was embers dimming to ash
each particle dying was a layer of past
now its deep soil, moist winds, sun in my favorite pose
well nourished, and these earthworms tickle my toes
that's my cue, heres a leap that i remember so much
falling weightless
flailing aimless to a pocket of brush