My Bones At Vulgar Poem by Tapiwanaishe Pamacheche

My bones are vulgar My country of floatation My long angry road of rotation My friends and fiends of destruction A crown of thorns on my head A crown of cactus on my head, A river of barrenness A stream of plaited ripples Euphorbia in my morning dish Foxglove juice for my thirst, A running poison in my gutter A tunnel with no end. At night, nightmares of kalanchoe My stomach is upset, In the field of coco Young and over worked Overwhelmed with bowel of echeveria Shooting agony on my back, Fired head with slavery of modest. Singing in avalanches Sighing a breeze And holding my naked rib, Growing tall as Organ Pipe Cactus Growing angry And agitated as the digitalis, My stomach tired of succulents My mouth white as vim, My writings are vinegar My bones are vulgar. My face coloured with calamity.