Shanghai Jar Poem by Brian Taylor

Standing in a Shanghai Jar
water trickles down my nose
debris falls upon my head
mud builds up around my toes.

My clothes are sodden, caked with mould,
water splashes round my knees.
The air is misty damp and cold,
I cough and splutter, wheeze and sneeze.

What am I doing in this zone
holed up in this dreadful pot?
This is my own my very own
though why or how I have forgot.

Outside, the sun spins through the heavens.
The stars, like gold dust, fill up space.
The cosmic wind slides through the void.
Somewhere, out there, my own true face?