12"x 6" x 8"
Hydrocal, Acrylic Paint
Under your shifting weight
croaks the chair supporting you.
You gaze through
your laptop
on your cluttered kitchen table.
Death floods
the world outside your door.
You watch lily pads grow
floating on fallacies that fog society.
Your lungs starve for oxygen.
You hear in the absence of friends' voices,
that you aren't the only one
drowning.
Bring coffee to your lips.
A year passes.
Frogs jump off their lily pads
live on TV,
they are not frogs.
You watch frogs attempt.
You watch,
anxiety fog your eyes and your thoughts.
You watch frogs float over dams,
live on TV.
Wait for frogs to be washed off granite and
blood stains expunged.
Midnight ceremony follows,
trying to confirm gospel.
Weeks pass with more national ritual.
A cold day carries snow and speeches,
a new rug, and curtains.
Bring coffee to your lips.
Spend your days inside,
playing possum,
staying so still that the world forgets who you are.
Weeks later
on the TV,
granite formally echoes
pungent memories of petulant frogs
jumping off lily pads for their leader.
Slimy frogs in suits appear,
ribbiting nonsense and lies.
The end was already know,
it surprised you
how much knowing hurt.
