9.25.2013

Deliver Us, Derelict

Gazing out
on a nuclear sea
witnessing
zombie stars
snarfing queen-robot
starfish by the pawful,
questions come to mind:
What have we become?
& What are we supposed
to do now?
Answers evade
like so much smoothed-out
flotsam
way out beyond the buoyline,
or at the murky bottom
with no hope of reclamation,
unreachable
undiscoverable
beyond reproach
or repair.

What is this? Hell if I know, but it’s for Izy’s prompt to the Real Toads: Future Sailors