he is no longer able
to tell
which side
of the ice shelf
he is on
under
while slowly drowning
or above
suffocating
from cumulative fears
so he wills himself
to sink
to fall farther
from the rotten center
in which
he spends
his days

he wishes
he were a squid
boneless
color shifting
able to disappear
in a cloud
of ink
that way
the disappointment
of the daily grind
could do nothing
as he clogs
the gears
to make the machine
stop
with a sputter
of deep regret
for the many lives
turned to paste
in the mechanical
greed