me & her get in a fight on the plane home over who is the better daughter

LA. thigh-backs are sun-fucked on sidewalks
I lumbering promising delaying detox
til I’m needless. but paradox panic habits her soapbox
 
so fling my rag doll body, surrender
to airplane. go home. mom is dead, blank, defend her
(from me) the cruel soul. my body means well: she is my lender.
 
I will lose sight of both ends of this week
regardless of promises to get better. you freak
mom out, body daughter agrees. resign. our flight is complete.