Lost, at See.

Is it my words or merely their attribution?
If they fell from another, more absurd place
A less substantial weight to bear. And, I know
My bed is made and the window remains open
Allowing irony’s profit to be misplaced.

Words, my last few volumes broken, then
Apportioned fault by a guile fleet, far off
On the horizon, consider the last avowed
Rescued last year, and now netted
After the flood pushed everything out.

p.s. and everything from then on.