by Allan Traphagan
In that small square of sanctity,
a pointillism of cubic light,
he awakens to the weave
of Bamboo, where each micro-
beam clings to the wisping dust afloat...
he groans the pain of rising.
Stretching arms to the Banana
leaves above..an umbrella of
glowing green, waiting for
him to assume his world and
run down pink sand beaches,
where the oceans great aquamarine
tongue laps the shore with
He wipes the sleep from his
eyes and gives thanks for
escape, from those cunning and
manipulative cities, where he took
in secretive silence, piece by piece,
a thing of dreams, to slip him from
the grasp of those Ozmonian civilizations
where everyone is embalmed within
lucid acrylic pyramids.....
Here.....upon this island
of fried Bromeliads and Grouper steaks,
where Cape Jasmine perfumes the air...
he pays every bill with love...
and it's not a felony..........