Surrogate Mother

Come dusk,

I slither out, bloody and new,

From ruptured umbilical cords,

Thrust out of vaginal walls.

By chance,

My infantile senses

Are intact and enthused.

Naked, I am fed

With shapes, smells, sounds, swarms and sensations

From the juvenile night’s bosom.

And every sense grows

Into a child’s sense.

Prowling into the night,

My meandering feet and childish fingers

Feel the bodies

Of fellow creatures of the night;

Other moonlit children.

I search each eye,

Each body

For a similar mark.

Flaccid, I stumbled into loneliness.

Shards of pain appear in my pubis

Curled, blackened and clustered.

Char my face, in pencil mats

Muffle my voice, low as night’s humdrums.

My masculine senses

Heave windows open.

Naked bodies sway

To the song of the night,

Emanating new shapes, new smells,

New sounds, new swarms and new sensations,

A strange new dusk spawns

Inside a warm bowl.

The possibilities in a strange new dusk

Smiled on my naked body,

And upon my genitals.

Ungarbed, I quivered in the cold.

I need a bosom

And a shield of hair.

Sexually excited, I masturbate

Into a stranger’s bowl.

I masturbate.

As I unfold myself,

I shrink.

Every span of skin

Forbears growth.

Every breath coalesces.

Every tress of hair

Sprawls a tiny sheath.

I coagulate into a new, cold sperm.

Quivering in the cold,

I swim up

To a stranger’s egg

Waiting to divest myself off my senses.

By midnight,

I ripple into a stranger’s womb.

In the day,

I float in saps,

Inchoate and unmade.

My body sprawls itself

Into an unrestricted expanse

And I grow without a center.

My fetal heart feeds

On strangers’ day dreams.

I collect the waves of myself

And prime them into an infant

With new skin.