do me the favor of opposing me; stuck-out me too far outside of myself and into the trees; and words, one of the last devices i have left to save me from this pit; the bank of our shared sorrows; hard not to empty myself and be as perverse as you need me to be; under tongue, over sea, do you remember that time i fell asleep on a catamaran and woke up on a manta ray eating phosphorescent orgies of micro-life; your rich taste covers me and i walk the block with a handful of wet-dog eyes grappling the pathway to outside