Unknown Maker, Greek Headless Statue - Adaption of Aphrodite Frejus Type
Trying for twins
Listening to the Crying Nudes— Unabomber and Unabomber II
I planned it all standing on the stairs already pregnant amid a
perturbed stream of morning commuters I cross against the
varicolored light “love, peace and harmony— Oh, very nice, but
maybe in the next world.” How many pissing and shitting dogs
do I see walking or loaves of rising bread and pastry—
everything in Nature seeks expansion of itself including all we
have made so I will be survived by no wife, three sisters and
two beautiful children
Hippies giving birth
hang their offspring in midair by a cord cut—
uproot the world tree and still it spins about
the missing axis— vortex pulling all
centripetal— where pollen? what fertile?
Houses going empty or full of grown sick
ghosts— they that lurch in slippers on false
tile while surroundings creak & shrink—
centrifugal freedom by cruel efforts & decisive
acts of leaving— rootless I can fly as I please
Praise the hippies for giving— I rain flowers
onto their sweet selfish heads
The avant-garde is here take notice
I cut off my own head for a picture undying fame
of the bard and song— my thought survives me
and my death— drive past a field
“while the many glut themselves like cattle”
you tap the window at them while we
speed past in the Sun while I
drink milk through my open neck
doused burning my body is finally in
control and free— fire was stolen
from the gods and punished we
cooked food and made the brain a ruling
parasite that posed the most
disturbing question— “Why?”
Casino
Why didn’t you come to see me?
Who wants to see you in a cage?
Surveillance
footage of smiling
faces make
way for commotion
of snake
eyes turning heads paid
security— Broken
hands— Empty pockets
Degenerate, gambler!
Why didn’t you come to see me?
Who wants to see you in a cage?
Community a bitter fruit so feed me
off a morsel of the open sky
I give up
My seat not for women
Or the old but children
Why didn’t you come to see me?
Who wants to see you in a cage?
Through my house a crooked
spine a spiral staircase climbs
from red light in a basement
to Sun light the attic window
over and over again a pothos
vine wrapped around it all
slowly turning yellow-white
Why didn’t you come to see me?
Who wants to see you in a cage?
Nothing comes before us
You are Nature pretending to be a bird under the Sun
I am Nature pretending to be a cat under the Sun and
we will collapse into each other’s arms later and
rest— how close it too close to get to a lion—
this close? The world is all an open mouth before you—
Jonathan said “it’s all meat before you” without what
we need specifically for us— not everybody has the
same taste or hungers for the same things
Sam Robinson is a writer from Massachusetts whose poetry has appeared before in Blue Arrangements, Spectra Poets, No More Prostitutes, Swamp, Reap Thrill and Apocalypse Confidential. I’m also the author of a chapbook, New Age Self Help (Bottlecap Press, 2024) and the singer and lyricist for the band Be Released. I can be found on instagram @baldsinatra and publishing some essays at sunworship.substack.com
High Horse 