old mollusk
who's been
dredged up from
the ocean bottom—
whose armor is
his only home—
who's devoid
of all earthly ambition
or hope, since
he's never once
gazed up at starlight
or sun—
I have but one
scummy token to give,
my only
lasting favor:
I promise not to wonder
how did I get here?
or spiral out the question
where will I go?
On the surface,
everyone knows
precious little,
yet they go
around pretending to assess
and debate.
I shall maintain this
calcified silence;
I won't
belabor salvation
or hell.
From my shell, I don't
claim to make this
nebulous existence
any easier to take.
I simply exist
to make the sheer
weirdness of it
a little less hard
to illustrate.
