the Player in the pool,
envious of deep frolickers.
splashy sounds turn heads.
momentary nods abide.
turned again,
bobbers miss the wave
that sweeps the low
the Player plays naught now
embraces sharky mermaids
who hate the taste of fake meat:
spam that spams the spammer
til he thinks that he is steak.
released, his bloody leavings
stain those others of before,
the fools who puddled in the deep,
mistaking glass surfaces
for friendly reflection.
the Player somehow rises for a nonce
rings his neighbors
til they notice once again.
Now their laughter lifts this fool
whose pride now feels false hands
and steals them,
afloat among the kiddies;
the Player thinks the deep now sings
to him alone.
Then Pygmies rise,
sing dead fishy songs
just he hears, and
ignores,
til bloody paeans drag his sinking smile
To rock bottom: three feet of skinny death.
Grave water fills the shallow end.
…………………………………………………..
………………………………………………..
……………….. . . . . . . . . .
. . ..
. . .. .
… is there anyone to save me?
perhaps me.
