Poetry from Robert Quill

Peelings

I strip
away my
life
in awkward
peelings.

Beneath,
a clown.
Macbeth. Whoever.

Don’t eat the
chips. They are full
of worse poisons
than lead.

But they
go nicely
in a word salad.

Star Horizons

I’m a space
traveling mama
who’s really
a man.

I go from one
planet, your inner
self, to the next,
your enemy’s garden.

I’m everywhere,
nowhere, collecting
evidence to hold the
rest of the universe

in celestial contempt.

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