Treasure Chest

The gem means more when it’s under dirt.
Like slumber shirt hems and numbers worth, its long..
as distances ran in tracks.
Or lands I ran, and the plans I rack.
Whose nack is gold in a wooden chest?
Ask out to scouts who should invest…
(like undercoats for a tux’s shell).
I’m consumed in vacuums, it sucks as well.
The diamond shape dons Super’s shirt.
The mind escapes, it’s too superb..
too obscure, too without a fix,
too without a cure, and breaks bones with sticks.
And names will never hurt me, slut.
I’ve made an ass of if’s and butts.
I’m a smoke burned down to its final ash,
a toke, some coke short of throttled trash.
Greened with envy like my bottled glass.
I’m a thoughtful ride, with a modeled crash.
I’m a hot design printed on a shirt,
displayed on pages and gone berzerk.
Raved on, green,
supreme with cash.
Leaned on mean til the till collapsed.
The laughter came when the joke revealed.
She poked my page and provoked the shield.
I spoke once, saying that I’d never cheat,
but I will move closer for a better seat.
A pill through potion and a pint for cheap.
A mind like Mogli, resign the chief.
If life is golden, I entrust my wrist
to a life long promise that I must exist.
I’ll commit and admit I’m in touch with this,
until the rich ask Discovery to bust the myth.
I’m dummy, I’m rummy, I’m crutched and hurt.
I’m Johnny, no Cash hurt, and what’s absurd..
the earliest bird’s said to gain the catch.
But the earliest worm gets maimed too fast.
A murder for necessity’s no heinous act.
Electric simplicity, its Raiden’s craft.
I’m grave, lost marbles, I’m chipped in stone,
and think peace with each punch that my fists condone.
I sacrifice words that my lips have sewn,
for the fabric of a life, I have risked the poem.
I have slipped, hurt hip joints, and missed the mark.
I have lists, short bullet points, a quest will Start…
(like the button just right of the NES Select).
Control every call. Change. Accept. Collect.
Buried in a bushel, 30 years of earth…
is a chest with a treasure that appears of worth…
to a world I predict that your heart forgot,
filled with gold, but your ex, hadn’t marked the spot.
And your next is obliged to unleash the catch.
From the deep, please release the latch.
At last.

—-

I made it.

2010