Saturday, April 20, 2013

Sandy Island Reflects

How long can I float this,
My addiction to nonexistence?
I'm not ashamed to have been

Never anything more than a fiction--
The black island, the strip of sand,
The warning on the satellite map

Copied from the naval map
Printed from the pen and ink
Cartographer's elegance, exactly

Following the coordinates
And eyewitness description
Of the captain of a ship of hellequins.

I'm only sad I never took advantage
Of the fact no one could find me
But had to avoid running aground.

I could have hidden a gone world,
Gems, alien spaceships, lost
People with prehuman languages,

All kinds of vulnerable and wicked
Things safely in my keeping,
In the keep of my not a damn thing.

But I deceive myself, now,
After being so long not being.
There are no witches or nymphs

On islands that do not exist.
Islands that do not exist belong
To cartographers, Australians, and God.

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