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