Treasure Island

Is It Poetry

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

The Magic Box


Here underneath I am able to stretch
to squeeze open the sky.
Our wordly possessions around me.
Grunting out more than the truth.
Here underneath I am able to squeeze
to stretch open the sky.

Walking down the path from here to heaven
back down to you.
Awaiting I wait only for you, take me back
You call it begging I call it need.
Walking down the path from heaven to here
back down to you.

Submitted: Tuesday, July 16, 2013
Edited: Wednesday, July 17, 2013
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