WITHOUT WORDS OR COVERS

Perhaps when I throw up
it’s when I’m with you
haphazardly birthing baby
dreams across the cosmos
Perhaps when I’m with me
noting flies speaking lies
as the autumn season mauls
. . . one perfectly placed
coffin (or coffee?)
I caught a whiff of old books
at a red light and how strange
the road is a book-spine without
words or covers
And someone asked, “would
you hit a woman with a baby?”
No, I’d hit her with a brick
is the e.e. cummings answer.

:: 10262015 ::

About EPRobles

Writer, Artist. I like to paint abstract acrylic images onto canvas. I love to read everything, and I especially enjoy science, philosophy, and the arts. I'm new to the blog experience and I very much enjoy it! I hope to learn as much about all the features that WordPress offers and thank you -- my visitor -- for taking time to read my words. Peace and love... View all posts by EPRobles

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