Thursday, 6 March 2025

THE BLISS OF THE WOMB



if you didnt arrive 
keening hard an existential wail
some strange masked woman
beat you 
till you did

now they expect 
autofill permission
& adherence 
to the fluid goalposts
mumbled 
out the sanitised egg
to roll over roll over
curl up like a hibernating boy
every unexplainable night

chinos neatly folded 
under crisp polo shirts
photo ID on a company lanyard
next to the rare earth phone

like the blood & terror
& shit & screaming
were never ever there

& you had forgotten
the bliss of the womb






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