Cannibal

it is late autumn
when nothing should be ripe
and yet
and yet
you pluck the sun
like a peach
from a fruit heaped branch
careening to the ground
heavy with the weight of that desire
now cradled in your hands
you are eating the sun
with juice dripping down your chin
running rivulets of golden ichor
is this not
the fruit of the gods?
and is this not
the finest form
of cannibalism?

____

Elliott Orchard-Blowen is an artist, writer, and aspiring local hermit. He currently lives in New England, but you can find him at your local second-hand store, kitchsy bookshop, or in the dumpsters behind a strip mall. Just knock three times on the lid.