The decapitated hand passes an hour from a flower
That above a spectral chess-city they cry
And ghosts control the furious variety of flesh
Invented like iron and silver structures of thunder.
Since so recently alive in a burst of light
Nomenclature within a ledger of written blood
parting waves and snow, clogs of ice that hands
cannot grasp even in brilliance i CAME.
The pregnant thoughts give birth you big star
in the jungle of concrete called Earth
Within that half-opened mouth of depth of a diamond
Sex is an extreme delight that easily directs a great
reading of a delirious ORGAN of phosphorescent change.
I look up to the sky but my eyes burn ~~~
I touched a goddesses whose chief song
between shelter and pillows; as her eyes carry an air
of a woman without legs or arms –> but a root
we met in pleasure as two doors in dawn / my shape
is tool divine too ; i look up to the skye where
everything is pleasure among the winds of clay
that invite out the tigers of their stems
among the furniture that sniffs out misfortunate
i had a fierce dream and bite the rain
and defend the cold politics of public snakes
whom I kill in the end.
I rubbed the different footprints of my feet
on ocellated carpet.
:: 10.02.2023 ::
E.P. Robles | Poetry 