Because An Island
Is Encouragement
How able am I to sail across this sea?
My boat’s always leaking. The sun manufactures
excuses why it burns the deck. Wind won’t show.
The water’s surface won’t slide me to the island
no matter how much I throw sacrifices of TVs,
blenders, and other tools of modern society.
When I get there I will set my clothes on fire.
I’ll dance around without need for a 3-piece suit.
If there’s an office I’ll shut down its doors.
No need for work anymore when pineapples
dive-bomb my mouth. No desire for microwaves
when I can lay my food on a rock to cook.
If only this ship would take off. I wouldn’t
have to look at myself in this watery reflection
of the grave I’ve been digging. Yellow
folders as my skeleton. A desk as my skull.
