Floor
please?
I
put reality in a fishbowl and I stare at it
as
if it were tucked under my arm
as
I am riding an internal elevator.
We
reach this floor where the door opens my eyes.
I
stare out into the fishbowl.
There,
staring into life for a moment
but
no one gets off.
The
door closes.
The
elevator itself fills.
We
swim on to a cache of fishbowls
submerged
beneath my staring pool's upper flat edge.
The door opens my eyes,
searching
out each bowl's content.
They
are so much the same, inside or out.
The
door closes on my contemplative understanding.
Now, surpringly, there is
another bowl
between
me and my staring out.
The
elevator opens shedding light into this bowl.
The
glass-like boundaries disappear.
The
door closes my eyelids again
on
what is left of me staring.
What
fishbowl was there to start with,
is,
what I seem to be asking . . .
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