The Toothache

Odours of cloves
frescoes the corridors
of my pained passage.
Like touch of Jesus
a tongued impress
on condemned incisor

changes nothing.


Flecks of notions
speckle existentialist obscura
as
Textual glosses
of inspiration dwindle
into simulation
of a simulation.

Vicodin miasma
imbues vapours of bleached
cream of wheat
heat
with metaphoric potency
of enameled detrium.