In her lithe wake
she had to forslouthe
the unleashed routhe
upon the pendulous roadkill
to spill the morphine
amaranthine thencefrom

Quicksanding maelstrom
to leap out
throughout -
Why doesn’t this thread
she gave me
thrust itself ahead?
I’m always this Gordian knot exactly when
the landfill would knead
the erosion in
- your next of kin?
Communicating vessels
pull me along
a sleepwalking lifeboat
so I can float
flog my life remains minus
the staying alive terminus.