Tuesday 12 October 2010

Pockmarks

My face is
pockmarked
with breaking dreams, hope
oozing
away like yellow-red pus;
the body
haemorrhages
desires to the ceaseless
illness of survival.

But the blood
festers
within,
raging
impassionedly, impotently until it
bursts
through,
ebbs,
clots
and
dries
among feeding flies.

[Published in Making Waves, ed. Pam & Bill Swyers; Swyers Publishing 2011]

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