Treasure Island

Scott Minar


Corrupted Image


Like a comedian in a labor camp,
I work hard not to be noticed.
The mathematician tells me not to
play music in my sleep. His bunk
is outdoors, a window-box for stars.
When they fall on him, he thinks
he's on fire. Put yourself out, Copernicus,
we mutter, and he goes back to sleep.
Cradling chairs like a guitar
I croon something at the moon.
It has a fine ear and spreads itself
around like a larger audience.
A last mouse, the opera star,
sings snow out of her mouth.
Two more months of this,
and even the wind will stop
flirting with me.

Submitted: Wednesday, June 25, 2014
Edited: Wednesday, June 25, 2014

Do you like this poem?
0 person liked.
0 person did not like.

What do you think this poem is about?



Topic(s): humor

Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Poet's Notes about The Poem

An inner world picture

Comments about this poem (Corrupted Image by Scott Minar )

Enter the verification code :

There is no comment submitted by members..
[Hata Bildir]