E.P. Robles | Poetry

i always have a dry mouth
i speak in my dreams and
breath air in hope
when i am a sleep
then the sun awakens me
like a simmering yoke
and i think, smiling;
i’m the bacon and my
blood the orange juice
it really is a solitary
moment: no one else is
here when i awaken
but my dreams follow me
in the short mornings
me stumbling for eye drops
and bc powder and socks
being human means i have
skin and flesh so i have
to make do with it
more busy awaken as meat
then being light. well,
i mean, being me.
so someone says i like your
poetry but it means nothing.
i think if someone said
‘you are nothing but speak
with words — who are you?’
would be delightful.
i’m striving for
ambiguity and nonsense.
and i dream of the crash!


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