Treasure Island

Michael Tucci

(25 January 1967)

Alone


The detritus of lost generations surrounds
Me with the stench of
Rotting memories and the
Putrification of what should
Have been.

The pathless way through dense
Vastness that led me here was
Like a modern, neuronal Grimm's tale with
No dramatis personae but one.

So, here I stand, sit, lie, recline in vile
Existence decay—a ruinous creation of
Wasted synaptic flash pan-ic activity.
A surrounding unboundedly bound as the
Willing slave who sought Ms. Domina
For her intricate rope tricks.

Submitted: Saturday, January 19, 2013
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