Soliloquy

The light's like an aquarium:
heavier than itself and without hurry.
I wonder if eating happens on this planet.

I'm happy to say the angles are comfortable,
although if this goes on forever
I'll eventually slide off. They seem to abhor

risk, though also to like it.
Those lemons, for instance, feel imminent.
The man in charge prefers things on the edge.

He's hectic, sweaty,  all over the room,
as if he's completing twenty
tasks at once, a nippy little Hercules.

I have the leisure to reflect, but draw a blank.
I'm all about grasping.
Give me something to hold on to.