Umbilicus (poem 5 of 12, half marathon)

Dark hole,
fleshy drain,
once vital passage
designed to receive, cut
then clamped
the pipeline turned
an angry purple,
then fell off.

The opening
capped with a whirl
of skin
now collects lint
and dirt in its folds.

Pick at the grit,
the skin breaks easily
but no blood,
just clear fluid
that turns crisp
like dried snot
or plasma.

The spot
Where I was once
tied me to
a place for taking
the blood from her
body, the breath
from her lungs
a straw sucking
at her,
maybe that’s why
she left.

Behind the fleshy cap,
liver and bladder
filtered waste.
In some bodies, the
vestigial artery
doesn’t properly
shut, warm piss can
seep out of the pit.


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