by George Taxon

In a trough,
an ingrown pyramid
scheme thrives.
A glitch?
Glib. Soluble.
In a stagnant pool of bliss.
Sapiens.
Who?
Me, trying to float,
trying to leave this rocky
ocean behind.
It’s dark down here
on this shelf,
where the deflated myths
of the past continue
to settle.
Up above,
I’m not sure if I belong,
my dreams won’t hold
water,
slapped together with rust
and artificial tears.
Damn.
Another dawn,
and I taste mildew
in my bubble
of joy.
O breathless turtle,
counsel me,
instruct me how
to crawl.
My appetites are insatiable,
my flaws gurgle in
this state-of-the-art net.
I am in the dark,
yet I see nothing
but blue.

George Taxon is a writer who has worked as an antiquarian bookseller, medical editor, and administrator. He lives just outside of Boston, Massachusetts.