stationed in a portion of my brain
stained, Vanish won’t kill it,
spill it, enough of the games.
Figure this ish out,
mould growing on grout,
damp smells like dead mangoes,
plucked from the petals,
of the yucca tree,
poisoned like she,
I sit here and cry,
in a cold sunshine,
lost a smile that lit up coal-mines.
Aching biceps, triceps, quadriceps,
neck at wrong angles,
unclicking shoulders
against rusting capillaries,
shouting at the military,
so far from home.
3