Robert S. Mullens Poems

Is that you?
Seated, the motionless,
Black haired girl.
...

What is there in this snowstorm?
So close to my door, it's on the porch.

Accessible as any desert to a Bedouin.
...

A little girl's words
Are like dolls,
All together at a party.
Fancily dressed in curled lines,
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The inventor is an artist of the road,
Which he builds, from the turning
In the parts that he finds.
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</>Narcissus wrote a poem,
Nine lines, two stanzas,
A good short poem.
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We know someone,
Who mines his liver,
And heart,
And sells this,
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Enjoying its last footless dance,
The Autumn rain falls like a warm soap.
Where there is room, water sits,
And braces for the winter's rent.
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It is a road,
The easiest way,
From one place,
To Another.
...