Buried Treasure Poem by Joe Bisicchia

And so I hear there's a map somewhere
to God.

That this God may be where X marks the spot,
three paces north of a twisted dogwood,
just a stone's roll from the dead tree.

I hear we're all vectors into each other.
If so, help me.

First, let's find that crumpled map.

Then the far off island to run aground.

Who will we have found?

In the least, maybe each other.



Published by Anti-Heroin Chic,2018