The stench from my clothes,
an aroma of sweat garnished with clay.
Birds waving at my buttocks,
they seem to understand the rhythm.
The trees were laughing so hard,
I am a joke to them.
I was playing for a prize,
but I am the prize.
My head on a spike,
burning at the stake.
I count the hair on my head,
a ritual to please myself.
He came across death yesterday.
He wanted answers from death.
Death wanted answers from him.
He was mysterious.
Death was mysterious.
Now are they are friends.
Covered up in mud, a sign of deception.
