the fruit

this man raises his arms to the sky
his other is head skewed to the right
and then to the left, in two separate
postures of grass walking morning
wet under  the feet, with garden hose
on its top spewing noisy wet abuses

hose is snake lying without Vishnu
Or  Krishna stamping on  snake head
grass eats water from its head under it.
eyes wake up from  grass eating hose
turn to the orange fruit to be plucked
behind the apartment before it ripens
so it will not fall away of excess gravity

mind turns to poetry making sense
in words that are for reader's eyeballs
mind is rebel and says mind's poetry
is not for reader, but  magic of words
incandescent images ,with own status
freed from a stifling reader's mind.

but wait, it is all coming back to sense
to  reader sense, on feet froze on grass
what if poetry words are writ without
a reader in mind but he will  come to it
like a leisurely cow foraging for food
on a summer afternoon and finds this
plastic paper and munches it anyway
 

what if we exclude the reader altogether
from poetry, mere poetry for poetry's sake
poetry written because you cannot help it
a poetry for writing, for merely writing.
now,now, the fruit  has  fallen of  gravity.

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