Epiphany / POEM

Two eyes descending from the dome
were embroidered on my face
I vomited some vile blood with foam
my own sickness shouted, Disgrace!

As a sticky placenta was squirming
I saw its residue pouring out of my maw
onto the ground where I'd ascended before,
centuries ago. Now, I don't know what I am.
Standing or lying on the floor?

Perhaps, I am a perpetual keen eye
looking for an eternal epiphany.
I'm telling you, I am what I throw up
I am what I do smell,
hate and, afraid.
I am an escapee from the land of plenty.