Seed

the thing is

I never did sprout

I just oozed a little muck

hole in the ground

the black dirt that makes

a pubic beard on

my mother covered my eyes

and in the cold night ground

I felt the worm come dumbly

around me – a hugging arm

and a face written on with paste

I had had enough of knowledge

and so with the worm

I swallowed a small comet of sun

and weezed out of the ovum

to the trash of air

a furious whistle plant I was

with a whole coliseum running

down my spine

I leaked mold and grew a soft

house all around my shoulders

Father, I gasped but all of my mouth

parts rose off into a vapor of alcohol

the earth held me together like a robe of fat

Adrian Kien