Solonielle

Threw in my gods along

with the towel, made

the mistake of not getting

up when introduced. It’s

hard when you lack legs,

yet deities care less about

such trivialities. Result: hand

in the dishrag, while it’s

wrung out. I have my doubts

the resultant pancake will

help me keep my mind

on my manners, but stranger

things have happened.

225.4

The bilge still works, but the sea

moves through it 

with a sluggish tinge, an intimation 

that it doesn’t want to be here anymore. 

We ask ourselves the scope

and breadth of “here”. The water 

treatment plant? The river? The planet? 

Any of these is possible,

and we identify.