Treasure Island

Is It Poetry

(1958 - / Bus-Boys And Poets, Washington D.C.)

To The Hidden


Without a nimble corpse,
to cross the narrow river with.
A child I see resist the urge to play
with staffs and Styx.
I resist the urge to be found out myself.
Out in the open
a source I offer to them all.
To be hidden.
Inside them all except for.
To isolate them all away from me.
Lest they consult among'st a mystery.
I have had experience being
locked within the jar.
Must my crown,
I am and more than simple beautiful.
I've had to hide myself covered in only you.
The grass and islands cover more than you.
The open-source of one that you hold dear.

Submitted: Thursday, March 07, 2013
Edited: Thursday, March 07, 2013

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