Poems from Robert Bloom
My head throbs
With a beat that bobs
Up and down like gobs
Of tears from sobs
Incomplete from jobs
That are controlled by snobs,
And...
A singsong sing-a-long
Is sung by the throng
As Bolero blares-
Boisterous and black-
In the background.
The rich man can-
With billions...
I stand atop a hill
I call Big Mama as
I look down on the city glimmering with lights.
I think to myself that each light is a fairy that...
Sometimes,
when I lay awake at
Night,
I feel a spider
roaming the e x p a n s e of my ear,
and the field of my dreams.
Empty red dining room-
voices coming in from the kitchen,
as I sit and enjoy my soup and sandwich.
The soup is nice and wet,
settling on...