Treasure Island

Warren Falcon

(04/23/52 - xxxx / Spartanburg, South Carolina, USA)

I, Twitter, Stutteringly Remember In Cyber Chases


'It's got to do with America,
my love of music, my grotesque loneliness...' - Henry Miller


Are not all summer nights

born late in America, fading

only when morning glories

breech fairgrounds entire

continents long,

fog draped at dawn?


Pine perimeters encircle

veiled hermetic tents.

Suspended rides now frighten.

Momentarily the carnies are

relieved of their ugliness.

Cotton candy gins spin

confections dry to cold crystal.

Sugared metals stop,

their precocious tongues tuned

too early for erasure.


I, Twitter, stutteringly remember

in cyber chases, late night,

sitting at computer scrabbling

after old grievances such are

lovers, cheaters, jilts, and those

rare 'got-lucky' graces, unexpected

shudders and shoulders where I broke

open, finally laid, laid waste for future flatterers

and failures of heart.


Sniffing my fingers for remnant tents,

I recall, sickened, the candy at every fair,

hand fulls gorged, glutted, belly sore and

wanting more, drowned in the push-shove

of fevered bodies intent on the fast rides

where one loses stomach for the ordinary.

Dizzy, I grab my ankles, confess instead,

I've puked my guts from excess, spun sugar

and cartwheels, mechanical distractions

ghosting up Stillborn nights holding their

breath well past bedtime.


At a window counting railroad cars

a boy thief is stealing circus hours.

Submitted: Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Edited: Tuesday, January 28, 2014

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