THAT i have hidden my flesh away
so no one touches it
i cannot hide the soul of me
without effort, it rises upon
its own
but the flesh speaks and yearns
to be with the remote love of you
there is nothing more to do
— it is sheltered.
And yet, aside from Soul the rest
is a noisy child wishing food
and i tell the child:
soon. soon.
:: 11-04-2017 ::
the light is coming beyond a morning’s curve
expectations of a day with hours
and i don’t know oh where does it go?
pennies falling within a funnel
minds too and love for fools
Time a piece of Meringue pie
baked in an oven ; a large glass
or metal bowl
as the world asks, ‘where does
time go?’
While walking down a street
(don’t you dare you can’t catch me)
the weak lie crossing the road
a hole within my sole reaching out
to the lost one’s within the cracks
The cobbler has his awl and knows
space has it’s mistress ‘time’
and we know how that goes
Don’t you dare you cannot feel me
anymore
Don’t you dare you cannot look
for me anymore
Don’t you dare you can’t catch me.
:: 10-04-2017 ::
so sometimes SOSomEtimes
i am unglued by time
i fail my b right days
and kiss black days
And so you are there
so beautiful within a
mindSET cradle — and
aching I get it: i’ll
get it right. IF now
I know how this is a
fate: the secret is that
I can choose any of those
timelines. It’s alright
it’s the light. And
i never met anything that
has ever broken me: my
council of 12 knows.
SO, i give you every
THING i am.
GAVE you every all of
heaven and the creme
of all hell. WE close
the door of the outside
WORLD — except for myself,
i give you everything i
am and my soul to release
the outside of life and
the rest can go to hell
girl, the rest is outside
of our own world.
:: 10-02-2017 ::
i have no memory to trigger
for readers of poetry.
i have no memories worthy
for readers of love AND
elevated language? bullshit.
words are words regardless
of degreed wordsmiths.
It is all about emotion.
the words as bridges
the moment within you
the feet walking there.
And that is really what
poetry is about:
releasing personality
releasing flesh.
the rest: bullshit.
:: 10-02-2017 ::
A pain. Inside a hole so far
deeply, no echo.
A morning sun sinking beneath
yesterday’s promises.
And i’m running toward the
edge of a crazy world.
i’m refusing to believe
we all are so very lost
no one has anymore love.
And save me Moon because
like a bright sight you
guide the shores and waves
of all these people; the
scared, tired, and mentally
drained peoples.
Our Earth.
:: 10-02-2017 ::
I have not a mouth nor a brain
and not a body for conveyance
but a thought is mine.
I know many have wondered;
death, death, death —
to what end is finality?
No ending but always as always
beginnings; mostly bright
colors and rushing sounds by.
Not a dream nor a waking moment;
but the in-between compromise
and serenity we go by that way.
The actor releases one costume
then decides upon another persona
and learns lines for the stage.
AND wishing the curtain falls
upon roses and much-desired
applause.
:: 10-01-2017 ::
 | EPRobles on OWL MILK AND INDIGO SMOKE |
 | Adam Fisher on OWL MILK AND INDIGO SMOKE |
| EPRobles on ECSTASIES OF THE REPULSIV… |
 | R. Marshall on ECSTASIES OF THE REPULSIV… |
 | Stefan on ECSTASIES OF THE REPULSIV… |
E.P. Robles | Poetry 