i slide my legs between half departed memories
plastered in a pain
of foggy glass
of red fish eggs as eyes and white pickled ginger for a tongue
perfectly creeping my fingernails down my larynx
to scratch at seamlessly
the words that were trying to act unoticed
prying their way past each trachial cartilage ridge
as a means to get closer to death
jump into a bold Alaskan lake
on a bed of ripe hydrochloric stomach acids,
frozen inside a cuneiform layered mixture of tissue
under a well of empty air
no arua borealis has been present in ages
no phenomenon but the one that tricks the uvula into letting toxins
slip into the tunnel, worming to the secreted stomach bag  
stalling to digest with pretext after pretext
but no display of tense pretension
just loosely taped claims,
jaggled, like a fifth graders palm would do
ragged and ****** and dismal like a poor man
around the corner
watching us
patiently