Treasure Island

RIC S. BASTASA


licking the drops of reality from your feet


there is free ride
to the fantasies of another

you do not oppose an image
you follow the dictate of color and scent

you arrive at wonderlands
and be met by fairies

it is the other that needs it
not you

you bring the camera and
take shots of impressions

in fantasy time is limited
remember Cinderella

the flying horse takes you
back home

you comfort fantasy
it is crying

then you walk towards a door
that opens you towards home

your feet are hurt on the nails
on the floors protruding

you bleed and lick the blood
from your toes

you taste reality and like it
you open the door of your room

blood drops and stains all over
you know what sleep is from now on

Submitted: Sunday, November 13, 2011

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