Sunday, 25 June 2017

I dreamed of a bitter fruit in the night
its dancing seeds pried from me
my respite
a rich burnt smell as if
a child had been set alight

A riotous ocean wavefront
came to me, as i curled up on a white shore
as if Gods own punitive hand
had lashed the sea up onto me

The seeds, charred and smoking,
jeered at me with acrid breath
and i turned the other cheek (like a wise apostle)
with a digit deep inside  my nostril

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