POETRY: IN MEDIAS RES

 I was born

in a bed, 
baptized in the sweat of my

            mother,

into trouble,

torn from the warmth of a

            womb,

in a bubble,

bloated in a black sac of

            water,

in sunlight,

stuck to the promise of a

            tomb,

in a body,

bound to a soul fitted in

            flesh,

in space,

salted by stars and planets of

            mud,

into darkness,

divorced from the loins of my

            father,

in a time,

tangled in minutes, days, dust and

            blood.

I was born in a story,

severed from the

            author.