Seed
  • Seed

  • the thing is
    I never did sprout
    I just oozed a little muck
    hole in the ground
    the black dirt that makes
    a pubic beard on
    my mother covered my eyes
    and in the cold night ground
    I felt the worm come dumbly
    around me – a hugging arm
    and a face written on with paste

    I had had enough of knowledge
    and so with the worm

    I swallowed a small comet of sun
    and weezed out of the ovum
    to the trash of air

    a furious whistle plant I was
    with a whole coliseum running
    down my spine
    I leaked mold and grew a soft
    house all around my shoulders

    Father, I gasped but all of my mouth
    parts rose off into a vapor of alcohol
    the earth held me together like a robe of fat

    Adrian Kien

  • 12" x 12"
  • Oil pastel on matboard/wood panel
  • 2012
  • $650.00
  • Inquire about artwork