I’d take no vocals with me
to the desert island
and no music of the moment:
just water sounds looped endlessly,
birdcalls,
heartbeats recorded at various times —
in utero,
at moments of stress and serenity,
on the occasion of slowing down and ceasing at death.
And movies? Why bother?
With all that sky above and
a global ocean before me,
I might learn something at last.
As for books:
well, there’s one cliche
that makes sense: I’d bring
ten thick blank books —
but just one ultra-fine point pen.
The ink might run out
long before the pages did,
or perhaps not. Perhaps
I could devote the time
to conservation: placing one
small, perfectly printed word
in the center of each creamy leaf.
When they come for my bones
they will puzzle over them —
why they are the words they are,
why the last word of all
on the final page of the book
is “saved.”
Dark Matter 
July 25th, 2009 at 7:35 pm
I always thought the desert island question was about conversation. You changed it to conservation. In the middle VERS becomes SERV and in the end you’re SAVED. This leads me to believe that the poem is about choosing religion (serve) over art (verse)… And this is why I hated literary criticism in my college English classes. [You did say whimsy, right?]
July 25th, 2009 at 11:01 pm
Hmmmm…
Yes. Yes I did.
😉
July 20th, 2009 at 7:27 pm
totally…we all need a little whimsy now and then.
July 20th, 2009 at 2:14 pm
Seems like a wimsical piece of poetry.