what’s it like to be a fish
in a bowl in a glass
in the office fish swish
to know that you will die
where you live
surrounded by water and glass
reflecting each other
maybe it seems like forever
mirror on mirror in silver endlessness
and the blurred peach wallpaper
might not exist
or the desk or the bookbags
limped over beds and electric hum
but what lies on the other side
not even gods know where the universe ends
and to float at the brim
of your slick wet grave-
i wonder if they know
that when they zip drunken housefly style
zigging the water, jazzing the glass,
their second wind
is a sign it’s the end
and a silent bob
a graceful ascension,
jesus walked on water
but he never lied down, and
every three seconds you begin and forget
how pleasant this tomb
how elegant in its emptiness
for exits have been made
from logic and knowledge
and that water is just fine
feels real nice
undulating in the absence of sin.