E.P. Robles | Poetry

Angels of God come down with smouldering torches of their own. The wide parking lot of a dead woman waiting for her lover.

“Here, listen”

Neo-natalist psychiatrist burning down suburban homes
Lives of free will and happiness fled and lives of ruined heirs —
Living inside the abomination of the foul abattoir Grotesque cannibalism in ancient days
He sits on the fire escape, the path of the yellow rattle, where the desolate thousand rivers mix.

“Hate! Hate! Hate!”

Blind dogs sniffing the air they discover Inanities, nothing more inconceivably imbecile all

They sniff that air they sniff — smells like hate, smells like hate —
Rats! The first snake of the morning, here in the shade of a clothes line.
Here in the shade of a broken jawbone that the man grasps.
This broken jawbone he grips it tight in his bloody hands and the teeth in his hands a tomb of profound madness.

Because now he thinks he will kill a human
Because now he thinks he will kill a human
She weeps out of meekness
Because of my impotence.

You understand, I realize, it is intolerable to me too, but how am I to obtain my revenge?
But if I cannot, I shall never smile I shall never be satisfied — a world without end.

Because with a dead man who has bared his teeth —

This man — the biting points of me
The jaws of a blackened beast
His upper jaw the jawbone of a lion
He will get his revenge
You know this, I realize, I realize,
but I will do nothing.

“Can’t, can’t, can’t, can’t”

Somebody’s screaming, somebody’s crying,

Somebody is still alive —

:: 07202022 ::