Treasure Island

Craig Kerm


Faded


People pass by
as i sit against the glass railing
in this technical building.
Their bodies swim through the air
as i lay drowned.
A sunken pirate ship
bound to this saturated hell
by my hull full of booty
and stolen booze.
My flesh like rotten wood
being picked apart by parasites.
I decay,
but am slowly preserved
by the poisons in my food
and air
and drugs.
I am becoming a mummy
in a British museum.
Watching people pass by,
watching time run a marathon
in Loring Park,
then across the city.
Watching clouds fill up my ears
and mask my eyes.
I'm becoming lost
in the fabled, mysterious, fog
of future possibles
and last chance forgottens,

Submitted: Friday, March 13, 2009

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