Treasure Island

Is It Poetry

(1958 - / Bus-Boys And Poets, Washington D.C.)

On the cold floor


On the cold floor
I am but a fading memory
dispersed through the light
unseen upon the floor
trying to fight a little more
before I wonder ever off
whether I am even here
like the spirits of the dead
caught some where
there unburden it
clammy never see it
when it comes
when someones in between it
never known
laying thus i am face down
the sun has faded going down
and even one sunrise is perhaps
if i could but see
some one hears those
muscles cry
looking through the mirror
eyes i see
how can i go out
without more of a taste
of this cold life
once i was
intoxicated
and i miss what
i can't touch
i miss it more
i can not stop
when I'm laying on the floor
without one drop
of what you have
i have no more
moments left now release it
it is warm
no
never more
here
upon the floor
one foot just kick me
over the side
to the bottom where i live
most of the time
why
must you try
to eat me all the time
off of the floor.

Submitted: Tuesday, January 19, 2010
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