Those Dead Things

In order to fill my cornucopia I need fruit
The seed is within me but where to plant it?

Give me those things in your heart
Let us fill this space with the dead!

Bark and twigs
Pods and leaves
Rotting peels and tufts of hair

Cuttings from your homeless toenails
Expired sour milk stinking through your childhood
Old news on older paper that don't mean squat no more

Memories of life's abrupt assaults
The bitter roots of unforgiveness
The names of heartbreakers

Shame from your lowest lows
Brain cells that overdid it on drugs and booze
and coagulated blood from violent staghorn blows

Yes give it all over
Cause I need dirt!

My orchard will thrive off it

And then I'll fill my cornucopia
and pour its love into your cup