A Bluebird Po-Tee-Weets at Breakfast

I sailed

The ocean

Blue, tried,

And true,

With two desert island

Novels packed in

A threaded rucksack.

I come

To find

Some hidden isle

With a deadpan

True crime private eye

Residing on it,

Scouting all

Sandy traces

For any clues,

Who goes

By the name

Of Galapagos.

What is

Real

What is

Not,

To

Hell with it.

The presented situation

Can be whatever

Mirage of

Fine entertainment

It desires.

(Photo taken by me.)


Looking for a new read? Take the car out for a moonlit drive 🌙 , roll the windows down 🚗 , crank up the jukebox oldies 🎵 , and check out my debut poetry collection Strange Cars in the Night on Amazon today.

Also, be sure to find me on Instagram @ blankpagesofmine and say hello!

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