Fruit of the Soul

Dimensionless the fruit
of the soul you must eat
it sits on the table
before and thereafter
to be picked at by the sneak
who during the meal nibbles in fast
smiling at the treasures he has.

And as written upon the curtain
their chatter
of banal matter
still sitting on the table untouched
is the endless supply of the soulful lust
screaming in real irrationality
to be devoured by the likes of anybody.

Then that dessert
that pie
the overturned table
still the endless supply
suffering the payment of labor
and the elusive control and punishment
of the slack soul devouring
the infinite crumbs of their semblance of rationality.