DEATH sheltered upon the spit of dying souls;
sun and heat a giant cat with one flat foot
upon a devil’s wing — the homosexual and
amorous spirits that cross a garden in dead
of night make scary sounds.
my throat an elevator from heaven descending
toward hell with every swallow; my non-
existent ring upon a broken finger as throbbing
sexual oysters.
to smell the clean spirit of angels are as hanging
clothes upon a clothesline within a Spring’s breeze.
:: 09.21.2020 ::
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I think today I broke
a word in my ignorance!
I did the deed within my garden
I stabbed with spade
upon a letter within
the damp soil, lay the bee!
And in my haste I slay she
and shouted in thunder,
‘Oh! It cannot BE!’
:: – ::
Leave a comment | tags: #be, #bee, #garden, #haste, #love, #nature, #pain, #poetry | posted in #be, #bee, #garden, #haste, #love, #nature, #pain
I walk the
Imperial Garden
of Abstract Thoughts
//-//
Leave a comment | tags: #garden, #inspiration, #love, #nature, #poetry | posted in #garden, #inspiration, #love, #nature
E.P. Robles | Poetry 