Mischance says her heart is a fountain
Surrounded with screaming children,
Ify ou want a place at the poolside,
Then make your way up through the drain into the sun.
There's no question.
Into the sun.
A connection.
A conception!
They're kicking inside her.
Kicking in the water,
Pissing on the fire.
Groping through pipwork labyrinths,
Struggling blindly up the guts:
If you make it to the surface
It's indigestation - heartburn - in a child
You're my manchild
And my heart burns.
They're kicking inside her.
Kicking in the water.
Pissing on the fire.