Mechanical clouds,
the pendulum to the pit
sink lower and lower.
Since I was born,
the threat of water has
been as a canopy above me.
My diving gear is holey.
Nothing breaks down
With a promise of pain.
My lungs will fill as sponges,
And then there will be
the catharsis of pressure,
the implosion as the
weight of water lays on me
like caramel on whipped cream.
Miniature Moon 