Window Pain


Not a paper bag
Or a terracotta mask
Can erase this face,
Or misplace
The dug-out lines,
The outlines,
the valleys sketched
Like map markings, marking my skin.
Or the thin
Unconventional smile, forced from
A gully of pain
That rises to the tip
Of a pin-like nerve
To my lip.
Does this body deserve
To mask these ageing bones
With leather skin
Smoothed out,
Like putty on a windowpane
With pain.
Or will night,
When dusk coughs
The light from the sky – celebrate,
and wait
until the moon is a silver eyelash
on a violet sheet
and the self –
rased.

Published in FTP Magazine on 7th April 2017.



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