Alonefruit, excerpts


The World


My waffling is not indifference,

but a sign of my love for the world




The sidewalk


Eye contact

is coercive


A city of downlookers

is the only locale

truly free of despots




Alone again


I work to wallow and muse.

Fears from last night stream

into my head now:

the lone stone needs company.






Why hike the mountain?


An equal number of French Canadians

and dried fruit Americans

passed us by as we clamored up rocks, falls,

and into a great white cloud.


The Quebecois passed a hunk of cheese between them

as they rested on the first summit,

summarily becoming silhouettes when we had finished

our sandwiches and moved into the next stretch of white abyss.


Why hike? Why pursue sex?

For the strange New Hampshire diner after packing the tents;

the sprawled conversation between sleepy lovers.

My companions did not particularly like the comparison.


Miles of shale-like not-shale, green hills, purple flowers, lookouts

are beautiful and difficult for the passersby on foot

the reason we tell ourselves we hike and indeed the most important

but not why we go, in the end.


All I could think of was the wheat hair at home

speaking to me from tomorrow.






Are we computational at our core?


Vaguerythought and leaves,

flattened to understand one another,

question whether there is truth underneath.


Birding with another,

the complexities attracting her

are lost on me.


But walking alone the morning after,

indistinct avians speak to me in chorus;

I smile then and now.






Dilapidated grape leaves

strung out from the fence

leave us in suspence,

each year forgetting if they're perennial.






A yellowing slip with which

one can imagine seeds,

light, soft dark impressions

for cross-pollination

hidden by its still-green shell.


I hear you were sweeter

when my parents would eat you.

A 9th grade project,

a classmate fed us some tea

alongside you.



they said,

they spoke as we ate,

not listening, teenagers,

wishing for something sweeter.






And our flesh was made one

two becomes one

begins as it's one

between us as one,

the poem is done.






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