SAM ROBINSON
Poem
Sitting splayed at the bus stop waiting for something
that disappeared— my dinner of flesh and fat being
eaten en plein air, willing an earthquake to swallow
greedy squat shitboxes devouring my empty sky, ai!
Turning to my left an orange surprise hangs moonripe
in midair and I beam smiling will forgive you another
day of life and love the purple blue slice up above me
as a delicate bruise, leaning-down-to-kiss anoxic lips
A-smile at furtive scratchings my opposite awaits—
When I approached the grocery a man possessed
of a truly massive gut and bare chest complimented
me on my shirt and it was already off my back, due
to the rent of garment across my shoulders— & what
did it bare to make him speak so, holding a beautiful
dog at attention— two married black flowers twined one
word: CEREMONY— he told me he went underground
seeing events from before play out again & again I told him
“Everything comes back around in a circle” now you
tell me this honestly— when do you most feel like a god?
––––
A great dog barking itself to sleep
I am an animal lover with so much compassion— it hurts
to see such noble things in their states of domestic subjection
to man, that lying and arrogant creatura who would condone the things they care for
to digging through the floor of confinement,
to destroying the elegant carpet woven as a testament
to our selflessness and magnanimity— what we supposed made us superior
to the beasts of the wild— beware of taking food from human beings! Such a thing leads
to domestication of the most wild sort— even a beautiful wolf will return
to the place it found easy sustenance and lose its passionate drive
to pursue prey bounding through air across the forest floor
––––
Sam Robinson is a writer from Massachusetts whose work has appeared previously at Blue Arrangements, Charm School, Hobart Pulp, Spectra Poets and elsewhere. He can be found on Instagram @baldsinatra and at sunworship.substack.com.