Treasure Island

John Courtney

(05-22-1982 / Philadelphia)

The Birds and The Killer Bees

and yet we all got there,
the bedroom of animals
and closed eyes, two skins
on a racetrack of rabbit hearts
in cold human hands,
teenage dress and bulge,
lights off
or they would ask
for words.

the nightmare
of touch, blue line of
woman on the wall,
dried mud of man
on her floor, denim
and cotton falling
into an ocean
of leaves.

we all got there,
by forest musk and
candle sheath, trembling
hounds behind cages
of teeth pouring
the other into a vat
of wild grief.

the binary romance
of school, threats of
silence on the edge
of color, oafish liars
mashed into headboards,
the refuge of bombs
and sanctuary of

warm sun on
quiet hair, skin
hooked to the wind
of her spine, and yet
we all got here, the
bedroom of animals
and closed eyes, great
family of the teenage heart,
clumsy faces to
another name.

Submitted: Tuesday, May 07, 2013
Edited: Wednesday, May 08, 2013
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