“Sunday Farmer’s Market”

Downstairs it’s fruitful
When I’m coming to
Once low on sugar in my bowl

I asked you
But now I can do
Without you

My city bears fruit
The past is in the snow
Native accessories don’t mute
How you’re quick to fold

In the Sunday Farmer’s Market
There’s fruits upon fruits
To reap from
Finally my spirit
Is invigorated after
Being reaped from

I was not vitaminous
Thrusted at deaths door
Pulp flowing through me
Makes me so joyous

Now I ask you
Why is this orange juice
Without you?

We benefited
From our fruit
When did we fade
in the snow?
Are you natively mute?
I know you don’t always fold

But it’s
the Sunday Farmer’s Market
There’s heaps of fruit
To feast on
I’m so thankful my spirit
Knows such vigor
After knowing carrion

Spawns of green trees
And juices
After a collapsing body
And mind

If this Mother Earth
Is your muse
Solve my confusion
Be kind

We don’t have to rekindle
Just call it truce
But if not
There’s life to revive me
Between my street signs

At the Sunday Farmer’s Market
With fruits to reap from
Where my spirit
Can be invigorated
When reaped from.

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