Treasure Island

Renee Swain


Drug of Choice


Birdie, down it goes
Smoothed over with a candy-coated-slime
No claws to nibble-n-chew
At the i-n-s-i-d-e of you, to poison
The blood-swell.

Birdie, down it went
Tastes like acid-mixed-cement
But if it works, doitdoitdoit
It won't kill you much f-a-s-t-e-r
Than the sweet green animal-master.

Birdie, almost dead
Feels like hot stones in the belly
Shall it un-birth, and vomit up red?
Or send you down to rest-your-head
This chemical snare.

Submitted: Friday, December 16, 2005

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