mmmmdcccliv

When Figs Fly

the aliens sunk into the fig,
their new but momentary home.

the fig, taking in without really
understanding some of the aliens’

characteristics—and these were,
culturally and practically about as

foreign to anyone who’d ever meandered
their way out of the sunlight and

into the shade of the fig tree, or
anything that had ever ingested its fruit—

not to mention that in this particular
moment the fig was, by way of the aliens,

performing a particular kind of ingesting (but to 

be clear, these extraterrestrials were not

being digested, not in ways we could
discuss here at any rate).  so i’d taken

a bite out of a beautiful fig, just me,
just the fig, with nothing on my mind

except a series of lapsed wages in a scene 

that i swear seemed to last for days.  and

while it is impossible to talk about, especially

in light of events that would occur soon thereafter,

the director was sitting in the corner of what had

to surely be the lushest little alcove in the

mediterranean.  and so i’m standing here
eating a fig, beginning to become

the other(s).  it doesn’t even have to
be plural, because these are the

kinds of entities who can be being eaten

by a fig in such a way that the lucky fig becomes

the creatures being eaten, without being able to

give any further details, as earlier mentioned.  but they are each, 

they are one, and i’m thinking about the solidity

of this, completely unaware that

within mere moments i’ll be snoozing

in the afterlife with a fig and a dozen

tiny beings from outer space, the only
human that has ever gotten a grand tour

of the afterlife by those special telepathic (which,

again, does not begin to describe) capabilities, so 

in the know, so ready to show me and our fig the 

ropes of what comes after we leave our beautiful 

planetary lives.  i enjoy the tour immensely, although

i become quite sleepy as it goes on and on and on,

and i’m not the least bit anxious.