A faded star

 

Ventilation bursts my shout outside the hole

the frontal lobe of pain puts the pain on

the clamour  my dark pink lipstick

the soil declining to wake me up

Tug of war.

A lie in my pharynx.

the knuckles of my hand

like the cover of a coconut from my backyard

Hard yet soft

Veracity lies in the mouth of wise old man

I hear, the squawk, tearing off the beetle leaf

in the innermost layer of my earlobe

the faint smell of roses striking  off

the underlying scintillating pieces of star

Explosions I hear,

Darkening the repetitions, sketching my  faded outline

with the black soil, no fertility I apprehend.

 

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