Poetic Endeavours Are Not Meant To Cure Us. Part 4-The Womb of Creation
Alveoli burst in seething pain
Green bile floods out of lacerations.
Cruciform expletives implode into disaster.
I slice cornea's from my weary eyes.
Scum stained nails rip teeth from jagged mouths.
I stood in the womb of creation and cried.
Assailed on all sides by the blinding dark.
Copyright © Daniel Corcoran | Year Posted 2010
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