Lines in the room bend and wave,
Caught in thick currents of air
And bubbles of humid breath.
Slate gray carpet lays on the floor
Like a bed of dirty gravel.
Scenery on picture window glass
Sits flat in paper panorama.
Swimming in my salty swelter,
I stare at the surface overhead
And wait for a meal to fall.
About the Poem
This poem is about seeing the world from a shifted frame of reference. In that way, it's almost like a Far Side cartoon. Humans sitting in a living room, staring at the ceiling while a deity above drops their food into the "tank."
This poem is previously unpublished in print.