“S” hissed toward my heart
as from Eden’s garden!
Sibilance! As seven
suspicious snakes.
A loquacious theater upon
the lagniappe stage of life.
The word. As an ancient
bookstore i shall call,
“Vellichor!”
My Soul! As sanguinolency within
my dying heart. I watched the
group of wild mustangs rush
into the purple red desert night.
Then lost eyesight.
Forever.
:: 09132021 ::
E.P. Robles | Poetry 