Let the stones fall from my wet mouth in

Gentle heaves, for

They have pitted themselves

Too deep, and too long

Rotting out my guts to blackened soil

Some even swelled and split with seed

Took root, and climbed to curl inside my throat

Like the rigging of a living ship.

I purge the poison only, or

I try-

It’s hard to account for everything that’s lost

When morning comes.