Treasure Island

Is It Poetry

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

the big dump


This song is not about me.
It is about your swollen face, and red cheeks.
Your streaky made up face the little rivers running through it.
This song cannot hide your rumpled cloths, you never changed.
Your thoughts of leaving all your friends for good, taking the blame.
Bright is the halo to hide your eyes from mine, I still hear you.
Blame for what? Unfeeling, thinking just wanting more?
This is about courage the cowardly dog, sleeping on the floor
needing all your toes, combing his fur, nice and slow.
While you sleep, deeply again.Safe with the knowledge inside.

Submitted: Friday, May 08, 2009

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