I’m feeling a little sunken,
Lurking here at the bottom of the
Ocean wallowing here in my
Muddy slime-filled pit.
Feeling rather lumpen,
Stodgy, awkwardly unblended, I remind myself
Of things unstirred, of things
That cause the upper lip to rise above the teeth.
I have formed a second skin, like congealing coffee,
Overheated, I am clammy, and I wish to shed.
Scrub me, I am just dead skin,
I am something to slough off, discard, and rinse.
