umbilicus mundi
i find the tether, not so late 
we form a circle with our mouths of o 
i find a vowel from the bowels of my earth 
but i cannot say my mother's face 
still i know it as wide as sky the embouchure of madness
i find the tea, 
she's not so late 
we form like a circle of moths 
lowered away from the trench 
in free fall embraced by sadness
the tea leaves are far too late 
we're not so firm 
and xerxes in his bath 
loves his own way in 
the fire my mothers face blows 
like wind from the phallus of the sun 
up and through the embouchure of madness
bah umundi