i can stir you with a swizzle stick //make a thin neck break: make you
a Manhattan that takes you to Jupiter now \ through the heart rye or Canadian whisky and red vermouth :: we travel the stars buying all the real estate like a bloody Mary and turn your coals into ice or make your spine climb up your back — Maraschino cherry
(swizzle stick) a truce for life up in my room and pull
the world from under you /analyze any faith through the brain
with no antidote — we all know blow-back sometimes for a thrill
but nothings like Earth’s air (we are searching for a place
like Earth to ruin again) light years to go.
Bought a planet called HD 209458 b (nickname “Osiris”)
all they wanted was a few beads and an axe called the “lady.”
reminded me of my ancestors and Chicago. Now I am soiled by
soul; interplanetary officers joke and say, “he would sell
his mother if she was a rock.”
So now i set my sights on a region called Empty God.
No planets, stars, or gases.
Under my console i keep an ancient alien document
no one knows of — therein lies the mercy of God.
After thrusters here i go.
:: 10.10.2020 ::
E.P. Robles | Poetry 