Plastic Submarine (by The Grammar Club)
You might have littered the landscape with dishonest promises,
released under the ocean on your own reconnaissance,
anonymous, covered up in hardened up petroleum,
laying lowly when the sonar pings. The ball is rolling then
to anywhere, independent oxygen,
the onboard cabinet resplendent with intoxicant.
The talk you meant to share is echo from the hull,
and the clicking of the instruments resurges every lull,
every bowl, every glass, every bubble, every breath.
Descend until you're out of ocean, nothing left.
Should've guessed your contraption was gonna need winding,
staring out the window into darkness like you need reminding.
Designed for finding distraction from the vastness
of the surface world and its open-air harassments.
Rotate the gas vents, fish flow in.
You've been working on it too long, let it begin.