you speak,
and i’m pressed to recollect, set
to a former lifetime
in a sleep soiled vat
to a similar cringe of the heart’s flacid strings
and mocked, though unsaid,
the obtuse sentences
i can’t be your mother
but i can’t be another
to sit in the grease
of a tired couch crease
in the stale, same dark
that plays adhesive part
between all the bodies
unconscious, unsorry
that lie still, splayed like gnats
poisoned, sleeping in vats