The Steinach Operation

A place of semi-natural vigor.


Eee Gee, back again...WHOOMP, here it is. C'mon party people.


When I was trapped on the island
I had plenty of time to read but nothing to read
except what I spelled out myself
in shells on the beach, my daily blog entry.
I did a lot of writing on the island
but eventually forgot how to read.
I finally learned to dance but learned I hate dancing.
I constantly thought I heard a phone ringing.
Or a microwave dinging.
I named my favorite trees and my least favorite trees.
Over time they all became my least favorite trees.
I often stared at my feet and hands.
I stared at fish bones and grains of sand.
I stared so long at the sky I went partially blind.
The clouds were shaped like things I'd never seen,
things that hadn't been invented yet.
I stared at the beach, at the place where the water
turned into the shore. It kept shifting.
I stared so long at the water it didn't look wet anymore.
I waited so long to be saved
I forgot what I was being saved for.
Why I was waving my hands.
Sometimes I thought I loved the island.
I ate some sand.
I kissed the land like a man saved.
I remembered a story about a man who ate an airplane.
Sometimes things washed up on the shore.
An umbrella. A crate.
Everything that arrived I partially ate.
Sometimes things washed up
that were invented while I was on the island.
Cloud-shaped things.
I waited for someone to invent an inflatable airplane.
Once I think I saw a plane
but I had forgotten what planes looked like
and what they were for.
Sometimes when I'd think about being saved
I wondered if I'd ever miss the island,
when I was miles away from the island.
When I could no longer kiss the island.
Now I sometimes wonder if I ever
made it off the island.


  • At 4:20 PM GMT-5, Blogger K Covs said…

    I love this poem. I want to partially eat it. No partial hate here.
    When do you come back?
    Come BACK!!


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