I

I is the one
watching I
through the closed
eye.

I is the infinite reflection in
nucleus of selfhood.
Blindness of darkness
gestating a bloated idea
in a hairless skin.

I was then I
yet was called to another.
Rawness of being
that they smother;
Collected debris.
Globuled muck,

as I roll-y-ed
down the sharp slopes
an adult.