here's my straight-out-of-my-ass attempt at not writing despair:

the flood of sunlight on sopping wetness


brown is the mango putrefied
and oozing through the netting
that once was its red skin.
pull the stone out, reveal
the cold, hard heart of what
once was a bloom of possibility,
aching to be harvested, waiting
for a change of seasons to bring
the fulfillment promised on the
sun's tongue as it tasted the tips
of yesterday, but not quite today,
and perhaps never tomorrow.



HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!

ain't that a real knee slapper?!?!