• Vol. 08
  • Chapter 11
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I had a face once, but wanted another –
so scrunched it up tight and buried it
in the earth. The deeper the better;
soft becomes hard, bone becomes rock.
I doused my hair in water, built it
into a wave that rose but never
came crashing down again.
Pressure building, like overripe fruit
ready to burst. I breathe it in,
earth, water, life – an enticing cocktail
but so full of alcohol, it’s better
sprayed on the skin than drunk.
No fruit is safe; apples are too full
of wisdom, bananas turn to lead
after midnight, and oranges…
acid that rots your teeth, aches
in your back, and yet so sweet,
fresh and bright as a morning
after rain. If I can’t be young again
as least I can taste it.