Submerged in gallons you are,
waters edging on heart attack–
sipping off the wrinkles in your neck.
walk on ripples you wish you could–
instead your air pockets
eat you from floating skirt up,
and you lick the chapters from your lips.
Bulbous lights flicker above the pungency
in molded rendition,
ode to the way you’ll die
and haunt me.
So, landscape or portrait on gradient land?
How will you sprawl,
between sewer wall and rat song?
You lick the chapters from your lips…