I took out a second mortgage on the flesh and bones
of my soul and drove home wondering if the foundation
was cracked. That would reduce the selling price
of the graveyard I sleep within each dying moment of
my lifeless wondering-wandering experience.
My llama was in the passenger seat, pink-lensed
circular glasses upon her long nose and crossed legs
(shaved just for me). She glanced at my in a
psychedelic motion and blew me a smothering-wet kiss
and said, “Focus on the road.” She smoked like a chimney
and I took a drag oh, well, drag, and we drag on, don’t wee.
Night forgave the day in all it’s fucked ways and we
kissed a star before entering our habitat. There’s a
staircase and beneath it a library with forgotten prose.
I grabbed a book on the way up into our nest.
“Animal Farm” the spine read. I feel like, “Minimus”
in a world of humans.
:: 08-30-2014 ::
E.P. Robles | Poetry 