His Orgasmic Face
Below The Staircase
Birth
Morning is like
a birth.
I am bursting through
a cracked shell.
Pushed from a womb.
Unaware of my form,
forced into existence.
I remove slime
from my eyes.
Part my pasty lips
with a yawn for life.
I am alive again,
from lying dormant
during the night.
Parts of my body,
tender and sore
from an unconscious struggle.
Into life
I take form.
Greeted by the
songs of hysterical birds.
Then quite an ache
stings my first thought.
I have to find
purpose,
In which causes
my blood to flow.
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