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.


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