a poem from the bathtub

Weightless nothing,

but structure.
What
infinitely tiny colony built these rigid chambers,

left these crispy solid wisps
that
bob and wave, but don’t.

Exoskeleton of a creature that never existed.

The moment washed away as my soggy leg circles the drain.

Scowling at a misplaced nail file,
as it lazily drifts around the whirlpool; realizing it
is
actually
a small sliver of soap.






 **Disclaimer: I am not a poet, but I like to steep in long baths that morph me (even more so) into an idealist that writes poem-reflections. The self-imposed consequence of the risk I took of dropping my iPhone into the bubble-ridden bath water was that I posted this poem, which might possibly suck upon later examination.  Enjoy?**

prune city

long baths are dangerous, it's not very often i have time for absolutely nothing, and being confined in water  is when i can release my minds and thoughts... then the thoughts unfurl in this endless stream of progression and go and go and go like the rolling steam constantly flowing across the top of the water.

the worst part is making the decision to switch the drain, because it not only ends a bath but it ends time to think and conclusions i could come to given a bit more time.