poem in peril

help! 

she’s running from 
the dactyls 
again, fleeing her own 
parchment skin
and huddling between 
the lines. 

she’s been part
iciple dangled 
and meter-mangled 
and nearly strangled 
(but wits intact) 
by stanza. in fact,

she left us a syllabled 
s-o-s,
and I fear it’s no joke, 
see? 

cuz just when you think 
she’s back to the clack
,
turns out 
she’s been eaten by a trochee. 

::
In November, we poem. Today is day 5.