Treasure Island

Is It Poetry

(1958 - / Bus-Boys And Poets, Washington D.C.)

a Mask, is to Eye


You travel back words, into the mask
both sides, are free swimming.In black.

I take a picture with my eye, universe is
the mask that you wear, clicked in space.

The dots are millions, the mask is plain so.

Flecks emulate enters, to burn unnamed.
Soul of that which is held, travels on plain.

Submitted: Friday, May 15, 2009
Edited: Friday, May 15, 2009
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