An existential deposition took
eleven heavy hours out of us.
We gave a close and surrealistic look
at three complaints, and saw them for the fuss
they were. A mess of feathers in the air
are all the albatross has left behind
for gulls to scavenge, pecking everywhere
at sustenance that isn’t there to find.

“No Exit” read a sign no one could see,
for though the walls were glass, we didn’t know
of any view around or out, as we
dissected the mistakes of years ago.
Encapsulated in our glassy craft,
we rode discovery until we laughed.