Impossible to Stomach

 

Poisoned by fact
Made sick by opinion
Broken by words,

I have been drinking
Stagnant water

 

Miles from my own well,

 

And now I stumble
Heavy with my disease;

 

A dying shadow
On crumbling clay,

 

Towards the latrine:

 

That putrid pit
Of stinking waste,

 

And there, on my knees
I retch my rancid bile;

 

My green eyes stream
My long throat burns
My tight stomach heaves…

 

I uncurl a finger,

 

Dip it in the sand,

 

And write:

 

“My vomit is rarely
Beautiful”.