Drunkard

He sees himself in all things
Himself the thing of present
The time that sloshes in him
Is grape juice flowing inside
Black grape’s bursting flesh.

World is much in a stomach
With toe-prints on his sand
The stubble on two day chin
Inner laughter sprinkle-dried,
A body dance- baby gurgling
A discovery of mother nipple.

Liquid is his night like mom
And it was in her stomach’s
Emerald aqua he had floated ,
The soft death he embraced,
A death that preceded birth.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s