Flood

the walls, cracking,
about to crumble at my feet,
I'm pushing against their force
inside my box.

they're made of cellophane
and sealed with lasers and I swear at last
I'd cast my living south beneath the scenery.

but then such unknowing was my kin
half eaten in the wilderness
half breathing with the smoke
of a pipe blown in the wind.

I shiver, in this cold ice cube,
this box of aging lies now melting
or growing perhaps as liquid,
where around me, i'm devoured in hatred
where I
loath the very soul I have become.

now, I lay here drowning
beneath the sun.