Birth

0
3

Breakout.
The insistent escapee
won’t be contained.
Its cannonball head thrust through
the too small
Chinese window of bones.

Pain strong enough
to collude with death
just for a minute.
Warm ever-present demise;
almost glad
if not to survive.

Smelling one’s own blood.
Sweet stickiness
like a newly-bled beast.
Attendants who don’t bat an eyelid
at dog-howls, moans,
as a rat with spiked teeth
rattles a track down the backbone.

Out in the open
small-particled criminal,
unaware, so hopefully ludicrous.
What a fish-eye vision
as its head turns sideways.

Wet with consommé
from its protein ocean.
Sink and swim.
Dream and live.

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