the pothos is drowned but i cower still at the foot

of your love, peer beneath it all into the dark

to figure out what monsters i've let hear my heart

beat and steady breath until i am crawling


under myself, pressed against the box spring,

crinkled and groping for a pot to puke in, head

strong and ready slop my contents into the 

mass. but my hand comes up with dry root.

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