you peered out from the sides
wouldn't throw me a twine.
I called out in gravel and in thunder.

You plundered every line
disguised in cherry wine.
And I turpentine, oily and bovine

swallowed the sand in the glass
filling up my nose on the pass
cutting my eyes on the toss.

Over my head
drowning in the sauce.
On the bottom

I'm a clump
not more than a stump
with feet.