umbilicus mundi

1.

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

2. 

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

3. 

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