face at last

The difference between prose and poetry is the difference between an apple and anaphylaxis. For instance, when you read a piece of prose, you bite into once-living flesh; you chew, crunch and work the flavor into your body. It is sweet. It is sour. It nourishes. The core is thrown to the ground, the remaining flesh decays, and the seeds grow new life.

Poetry begins similarly, however, shortly after swallowing, immunoglobins begin their work, communicating with your mast cells, telling them to protect you . Your pharynx begins to swell; edema begins to seep through membranes and fill your pulmonic tissues. Inspiration ceases and you fall to the ground.

Anyway... your death-fist-flesh encloses the flesh of the apple still. As both decay, the sun bakes your body and the seed sprouts, sucking up the apple's and your body's now mingling nutrients.

A tree grows up lifting your body to the sky.

One day a child will climb the tree; her limbs communicate and speak with the limbs of the tree as it leads her to a place where a face can be seen poking out. The tree's skin has given your skull a new face. The child will smile and run her fingers over your eyes, nose, and cheeks, and then she will kiss your new lips and the poem will begin.