What if all we got was a looping tidal wave sound A polar sunburn and some wind some rusted out cans of Burma-Shave™ washed up on a plastic island of castaways crush crush crush the waters say all around us
salted and dried as weeks old cod we lay prone waiting for something to change enough to reveal visible evocations toward our unknown end
at one time we all sat alone with blank paper a typewriter a quiet settling of the air around us all around our one desk lamp our flashing thoughts changes that pushed us closer to one another uncomfortably tighter a state of blind containment we called it
our holding pen comprised of someone's shrunken head vessel of complacent restraint it came with no brain only lights out of our control they yelled "LIGHTS OUT!" and just like magic we fell asleep right where we laid
adrift we still float with no chance of credible response the only organic matter our own bodies in Tyvek™ in plastic or polyester latex weather-worn and lost its gleaming bottles that don't scuff like glass
the next day we awake and another dolphin has run amok gone to a distant place leaving a tangled lump of chewed carcass under the lip of plastic six-pack brambles the sharp edges of filigreed netting that make up our beaches
holding the layers of rotting animals which fuel the constant bumping the nosing the prodding of anything carnivorous in the sea around us anything wanting more than its fair share of meats anything willing to come tangle with our undercarriage
in the cold darkness of singular contemplation no shade ever other than perhaps a shredded tarp whipping the back of the un-seeable wind tapping our legs with its rusted grommets compelling us to think of a speed we no longer know
how much longer can we continue to have hope continue to have a lust to linger ever longer through the terror the exhaustion the exposure through the horrors of survival at a range closer than any would like to imagine
don't fall down a hole of your own making the sea birds laugh down upon us don't pray for dark water or weather when you can't look away can't swim beyond this unmapped mass this destination
the ocean tries to act like it doesn't give a **** but we lay prone we listen to her groaning beneath us a depth of worlds we can't be in beneath us like around us the conditions are unstable we wander without intention without compass without hoping we continue our mission