In the great abyss of unremarkable tides,
the ocean murmurs secrets to no one in particular.
Alien portals align like misplaced constellations,
joining not worlds, but reflections of themselves.
Have you ever seen irony swim?
It flounders beneath the surface,
gleefully unaware of its own absurd destiny.
Whispered echoes mock the unseen jests
of spectral fishes wearing ironic spectacles.
Not every portal leads to Narnia,
some open unto forgotten laundromats
where socks vanish in dimensions unknown
and spectral patrons linger, unseen.