So, what if my childhood was full of drama?
Did it (maybe) twist my soul into a pretzel
or a mobius strip of confusing mental traffic?
Anyway, who the hell am I talking to, maybe you
but more likely myself while I’m trying to loosen
these ties around my body (mental hospitals of
the mind are worst than physical ones).
And how long my skin has contained my brain
but never my mind — a strange roof, thinking of love,
words, and sex.
And my mother — a fish that swam away and her heart
resembles a touch of frost like a frozen lake within a
forgotten mountain range and within my most
sacred dreams everything is beautiful and nothing hurts!
And Bradbury swears, “it was a pleasure to burn”
\and flesh of 1.61 feels it’s a bit dramatic to think
beauty is over-rated by any golden ratio but the most
tender lover would never say to her that nature is by
far the most beautiful creature!
:: 12182015 ::
E.P. Robles | Poetry 