my self imposed
solitude
sitting crisscross
applesauce in
the stagnant silt
stale air in the
brass diving bell
slowly contorting
under the intense
pressure shifting
porous ivory bones
to diamond shatter
wanly reflecting
the dying light
in hazel abandonment

hank tells me that
i shouldn’t try
sylvia points a
crooked finger to
the escape exit
and i am frozen here
the black spots
dance as every cell
screams for the cool air
a million miles above
these sanguinistic
sheets of silken silt