-1- how secure it must feel to be a like all the varieties of crown-tail gourami who work in the shadow of acrylic lids that sport few holes, surviving on mealy flakes sprinkled into a slowly leaking container (at least bi-weekly) just long enough to keep them scooting on the rocks like bottom feeders who scavenge for more of the predictable -2- like them, my life span is unseasonably limited in this aqueous tomb and i realize i must jump as soon as the net scoops out the dead; seems that my only hope is to jump from one filled glass to another, and still another 'til i discover the one container denounced as "myth". . . for dogged determination will not freeze my fins from launching out upon this most daring of all quests, no matter how many of my predecessors --although valiant in trying-- miscalculated only to be crushed underfoot as punishment, their memory goes unnoticed, so i've learned through experience that it is best to hide my ambitions under the color'd corporate stones -3- from dawn to late night, those who swim for survival are given just enough room to surface a few inches at a time where the bladder of freedom's labyrinth is filled to capacity and the ceiling is so low that the supply of air is limited to 30 minutes a day. . . there can be no surrender no, not to these slimy environs for the anguish of this see-thru container forces all like-minded to descend again to the bottom -4- visiting inspectors peek into my cubicled rim-- they analyze my flagellations as i perform for them with flared gills and extended fins inquiring, "how long can this specimen be kept at the bottom?" what these predators fail to realize is my holographic ceiling, false security at best, is slowly evaporating -5- i travail for the warmth and protection of mysterious triangles where things are seen no more--where even the most experienced of creatures among us dare not go) but when they flip the light switch and exit my domain for six months more i will no longer be a complacent servant of their riptide. . . and no more need to spawn my skills with tank mates who jump when the net disappears © 2004 by cynth'ya lewis reed