Yawning
into the overglued morrow,
I am pouring from a hoarse kitchen-faucet.
And always I marvel -
The Earthly womb is waiting for me.
And then I can talk and laugh,
Moving broodily pencils of thoughts.
That is shuffle of my steps in the worldly
gullet.
That is like I play a game,
hinking for my breath's behalf.
Going up the stairs crumbling and shabby
Where thrngs were stepping
Aluminum teeth - i hear them clank at
the kitchen,
And nothingness gobbling up every day,
No matter I wipe from my face
The saliva of business,
I'm still being born...
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