out wide
to hide the rage
painted the top
and bottom crimson clay

showed the crooked,
yellowed ivory
both rows
the glow of the suntan
was a moat around
the crescent moon
the mound of wrinkled
fleshy protrusion –

but it’s only an illusion
the black-legged orbs
of green
above the brow
are not a smoke screen

dampened from the pain
I catch the beads
of rain with my tongue
and swallow
choking on the memories –

an overgrown lawn of disease