Throw me a line;
give me a clue,
a bone,
a wish,
a star, a stick.
A stick,
give me a stick,
a shield,
anything, anything at all!
I am not just drowning out here;
I am drowning
in rivers of blood
that both boil
and chill
and wind about my ankles like vines,
to pull me under
a tide so red
there is no more blue to the sky,
only a murky bullet hole,
where was
once the moon.
