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Fun Patrol

Fruiting Bodies

by Justin Teerlinck



I am a child seeking

His lost mother

I am a grass blade

In a concrete fissure

I am atrophied and feral

Leaping at drops in rivers

Your fruiting body

Springs from soil alive

Connections spun below

A child cannot lie

What you reveal is real

Not the shades imprisoned

In my overcast mind

Cumulus accumulates

Humid, vaporous thoughts

Linger long, felt, unseen

Until you unlock them

Scatter me in wanton

Formless dissipation

The shape that each life takes

Is just a way station

Life unfurls on mayflies’ breath

Evaporates unseen

Let me live a moment

In grandeur, microscopic

In aqueous kaleidoscopes

In shards of broken glass

Delicate, diaphanous

In mirrors, fractured, thawing

On extending palms and tongues

I am the fruiting body

Nourishing, returning

In deliquescence lost

In self-consumption born

Consecrated, consummated

Into the soil sown