My soul has toothache


From biting down too hard on it, the fragrant peach
Split its stone, a pit of my unbelonging, pith of dreams
A transcendental fixation on finding the right fruit
Has brought me to a hard dry embankment
Dislocation is rainsoaked map of the present
The future, a mass of  wheeling birds
As if therapy were lying under a nimbus
With a dissociated angel overhead
Holding a carved fruit, waiting for the kiss
Can I wait for the extraction?

Art and poetry copyright Veronica  Aldous 2017 all rights reserved


About Veronica Aldous

Writer and artist, Veronica is a lecturer is Fine Art and Creative Writing. Her first book of poems, 'Moon Cinema' is now available on Now there is also 'Mortal' her second book.
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