Treasure Island

Jesse Ellsbury

(March 23,1982 / Washington D.C.)

Wage War Nuclear


Hurt lingers behind my eyes like a phantasm in a haunted house,
I cry out to the Universe, her dancing lips tease me with my dreams.
The stars, the nightmares, orbit dead, apathetic as Jupiter’s skull,
which gleams like moonlight in the sun; the smile on my face is gone.
I am the animated corpse, the forgotten Son of [a] man,
My family vomits promises like only true friends can.
I am a finger of the Lord, the heir of/to a Lady thrice spurned,
while the only thing I ever wanted was to help [them] learn.

Angels and demons jealous of each other wage war nuclear in my head,
I built my hopes upon the graves of men who learned to Babel
serenades inside a cloud while the women taught themselves to grapple
into the caves that house my eyes, my heart melts away in my tears.
Vague definitions of human forms drip in the heat of a summer mirage,
We don’t have to be that far away in order to all look the same;
Where smiles become invisible, only a scream can be seen.
I yell in the Cavern of Night to escape the nightmare of my dreams.

Never dance upon a fence where you’re not sure you can stand,
It is only slightly safer than choosing to dance upon the land,
Where mouths seep dark red hatred like laughing gaping wounds,
the matron regresses to the maiden upon the death of the groom.
Anonymity is the common grave that wipes us from the earth,
Our identity is buried with us (it’s the last time we will matter)
And rots away from memory after a generation’s time,
i always hoped my love would come after I became blind.

The future is the tidal wave bearing down on us when we’re born,
But we never seem to have the time to get out of town before,
At least it is the cheapest burial anybody can afford.
I just pray that I forget myself before the shadow of the storm
drags me fighting biting writing cackling crackling to the floor,
My mouth upon an urchin while the barracuda begs for more.
Whoever thought that I might end enjambed inside another’s heart
beating softly on my head! But isn’t that how it always starts?

Submitted: Tuesday, June 25, 2013
Edited: Friday, July 26, 2013

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Poet's Notes about The Poem

A dense and multi-layered existential torment.

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