Treasure Island

Luca Menin


Panic


I listen at the rumours on the streets above
Floated with cars and city doves
The building stories in brown envelopes

The skies are gathering together in light bulbs
And the body, taste of yellow
ears split at the bitter sirens mellow

Magical tic of a floating watch
Tack with thorns under the crotch
is too late it say it's too far away.

Falling down, under below
Hallucinogens escalators grounder
spilled coffee cap, bounder
so beloved and now gone.

Panic on the slaughter floor
Thrown cigarettes butts fireworks
reverse door silver rust square
only exit, stampede.

Submitted: Wednesday, June 04, 2014
Edited: Monday, July 07, 2014

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Topic(s): life

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