Treasure Island

shimon weinroth


With A Grain of Salt


the other me slithers out of
peep holes, cracks and crannies
slides and spreads, rolls and multiplies
fillng the here and vast beyond

rides the golden chariots,
glides on the wings of fantasy
begetting dreams of dreams,
floating on clouds wrapped and cloaked

shedding my skin, dropping my leaves
hung up to dry,
dominnated by lack of means,
I shrink wither and recline

by moods eluding and flirtatious
devoid of trauma, drama and catharsis
indulge myself
into realms of there

sometimes I can be followed,
pride is of no use
guilt and blushing have no place,
I am free, of electronics too

on a vacation, from some of myself

Submitted: Wednesday, October 15, 2008
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