Voice from the Open Sea

Daily we are starving off. Only a handful left.

This is ridiculous for The 20th Century.

Where are the helicopters, The woolly, bearded

Crews we heard so much about? Where are you searching

For us anyway? This is no Mislaid moonshot —

We are not simply adrift Somewhere in the thin

Sargasso — we are centering Nowhere while you

Dutifully scour the coast For signs of debris.

Before too long we'll tear Up these goddamn

Boat-boards to make a fire. You may smell us

Burning, one by one, if you Don't see us first —

Wild, phosphorescent fish Flaring for the last

Time, too far out of all depth To withstand the pressure.