He was borne on a branch
The low hanging fruit
Of the curse
The bushel that hung from nails
Trellising tight stems to the frame
Spurs offering spurts of pyrrole red
Cherry blood
Staked out for us
Coagulate cluster
Free falling water
Berry blue thread veins beneath
Pluck the pickings
As you pass the tree
The juice flows free
The low hanging fruit
The cursed and the crushed
The pulp and the plumes
Pick the pluckings,
You can reach if you stand on your toes.
You will not surely die?
Eat, if you dare.
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