Treasure Island

A.j. Binash

(04-20-1988 / Dodgeville WI)

To All the Pathetic Men Alone and Crying


Don’t use artificial illuminations
As an excuse (The bottle, pill, or masturbation work-just fine)
Or
Expect to be haunted.
By the stains that are exposed
Under black light.
(Each dead protein
A ghost of sexual lust)

I remember
Finding her hair
On my pillow.

Strands
That tickled my tonsils.
As she looked down
Into my eyes.
Vowing promises
With each thrust.

How cute.
That I now wish her bald.

I am tempted
To use the sun
As an artificial illumination.

For what’s exposed in daylight:
Her hair
Dancing with garbage.
Her hair
In the taste of hand sanitizer.
Her hair
Ticking with every 4pm minute.

On the cheeks of strange women,
Mascara stains
That reminds me
Of damage done.

“I’m sorry! ”
I tell them.

They look at me
As if I was insane.
And…
Especially that look
Reminds me of her.

Submitted: Wednesday, November 06, 2013
Edited: Thursday, November 07, 2013

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