Treasure Island

Chris Purser


green are the shallow days
strung like nuggets of
dung under the nose,
odiferous, splendiferous,
enough to make you
up and erp your lunch.
blue are the crested birds
that expel the contents of
their tiny bowels upon
your bare head before noon
leaving creamy droppings
of well digested crap in
your dreadlocks or your
newly coiffed do.
brown is the color
of the stuff your
bare feet squashed
at the beach, and all too
late you spied your
neighbor walking his
Great Dane for his morning

Submitted: Monday, January 14, 2008

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