SINGLE SPORE of my libran heart
how wonderful to be drawn into this messy abstract Art.
Painting, wishing, dreaming sleeping upon the hard bone of
a dead blue whale’s penis.
Eating orchids. Tasting essences of yesterday’s highness lift shit
so we can wrap it all back
A cedar box of millennia traps where kings and queens souls weep
dream of incarnation — perhaps!
oh hey. wait. i left my car keys upon the kitchen table while dreaming
of my surprising thoughts — no invites.
Oh, fuck. I tasted the baby breath when a saucer flew over my head and
spewed angel hair all over my head.
Hey. wait. i didn’t flush the toilet and now forever am i indebted to the
clean police of refuse. Covid lips taste politicians passionately — govern-
ment box of cedar fox; succeed. indeed.
DIVIDED CANCER WE FALL
:: 10.13.2021 ::
E.P. Robles | Poetry 