Poem of the Week: You are Fantasy, I am Island by Chevy

Shell by shell, imperfection compresses itself into mid-air.

It creates a silent state of delirium throughout upstate New York.

Right before human eyes, it made the front page and we’re wondering (by the thousands) if this is Reality or a trick of the Times.

The wife: the Fantasy, He: the Island:

William, William wake up Honey—there are men out in front of the house and I

Don’t know what they want.

Biscuits were ready and there had been a slow day ahead of them;

A pot of tea, the Game, the Times: it was that Sunday morning when William woke up.

He wasn’t sleeping with the Fantasy anymore. He wasn’t on the Island anymore.

He was pleading with men on his front porch in neutral-colored trench coats.

[Read the full poem on YWS]