AT times as now
i happen to be tired
of being a man.
so fashionably sensible
entering tailor shops
or movie theaters
; the weather tearing me
apart, an impenetrable,
i hide under the wings
of a swan; smoking my
cigars and talking over
the murmur of the rain’s

i happen to be tired
of my feet and my face —
it’s always the same.
some have said i am the mysterious
one with the hair of a god/not me\
so this is my heart bleeding
before you — upon my knees
-[death would be lovely i imagine]
to be brilliant i need to run down
the streets with a sexy knife screaming
how i love Mozart: shouting until
i freeze to death. But with my
dark eyes and hidden heart: poetry
or eyeglasses, and elevators.
life is breaking my heart.
Nevertheless i am delighted
to awaken ghosts and lost loved ones;
to slay a priest or his nun with my
veins — to walk through churches
or crawl through orthopedic shops,
and the world of foolish games.

the dove of love is filled
with spilt blood and deep tears.

:: 09.21.2020 ::

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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