stolen guava 

at the grocery store i worship the devil. 
a pound of peanuts. a pound of ice.
dropping a gallon of milk
in the middle of the aisle as a sacrifice.
what i want is broken strings of beads.
i am thinking about processes.
how a seed is held in the mouth 
of a man. he spits it into the dirt & then
another man bends over picking 
his own eyes from the stalks all day.
truck after truck. there is a delivery 
at the front of the store & all the workers go
to ferry boxes from one bone to the next.
i read nutrition labels as if 
i'm looking for scripture. here comes 
the secret vitamin gospel. bananas 
where all of them are too small & none 
are the right amount of ripe / not ripe.
i find a guava & they are too expensive.
they are ready though & they are eager.
put the whole fruit in my mouth.
hear a chorus of fingers. i never meant
to be as hunger as the supermarket says i am.
i wanted to pick berries from the face
of a wild goat. i wanted a tin foil farm.
a disco ball swelling in the july sun.
never once did they tell me 
getting older would be about 
unhinging your jaw. taking whatever
you can take. a passage of seeds. little bells
between my teeth. i go to the meat section
to stare at msucle. i go to the eggs 
& contemplate filling my pockets.
holding the eggs in my hands
for days until ghost chickens hatch
& traverse the ceiling of our apartment. 
i leave with the taste of guava 
still in my mouth.