Monthly Archives: April 2019
Eternal sadness i
write. Within the beauty of literature
that i am embodied within, for, in my
excessively rapid writings of sentences
. simply stated: my weakness is the
elementary understanding of Time.
I do not grasp it. My mind is untethered.
And forgive me my precious readers.
No great magnificence (and who disposes
the element of time?). my little feet as
once i was a child were wet with the humid
tears of the deep south. Upon the Mississippi
River the sun seemed to lower itself upon the
muddy banks. the fish and the water upon
that evening lowered itself upon the horizon.
Swimming. On mind. On time. On Space.
The large legs of the Sunshine Bridge
broke its light. And within the distance
sugarcane sweetness. Is Louisiana.
My sweet land. My sweet tears.
:: 04-03-2019 ::
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UPON Dali’s lashes the clocks have
melted persistently as Time
battles weak waves of gravity
And then (that some whisper) a
name murmuring midnight we all
stand before the Cosmic God
who has No Name; maybe “Ah.”
As glass cocks turn to stone
the soft touch of skin burns
and then a charming strike
of lightning buries the lips
of ruins /my mother has hips
that born a grown fetus
through the strongest arms
of all forgotten women
And my heart drawn by Picasso
my face by Jesus and my Soul
by Space.
It is here
the engraving plate that
printed all humans /but the
hand of that apprentice
has left us for another
universe.\
:: 03-29-2019 ::
Leave a comment | tags: #art, #dahli, #ink, #mind, #paint, #poetry, #surrealism, #words | posted in #surrealism, Uncategorized
FOUR blankets upon my skin
my feet horizontal off the ground
and still my balls ache like fire
like fire i’ve been away
from love too long /don’t make it a big deal\
Spectrophilia saves me at the end of the day
No sleep no dreams i’m attracted to ghosts
and the many images within all mirrors
and the love of a dead poet named Emily
Dickinson; come to me dear, don’t forget
me — i’m too sensitive And your body
is verse to the space inside the dying
heart of my bruised chest.
And only you could ever could ever
understand — its all within your prose;
to touch these things i gently hold.
:: 03-21-2019 ::
Leave a comment | tags: #feelings, #nightmares, #surrealism, #thoughts, #words | posted in #poetry, Uncategorized
the mud between my bare toes have spoken: although i search
for someone as me in the world i am severely alone. My spine
sings a song by tonal qualities of pain; the burden of life
is heavy and it has curved my life. ? is its shape. Half
the shape of a voluptuous woman without hair. Her teeth
are enameled beasts with conquering breasts. Evil and Good
have confronted me but my reply: Go! I did not summon you.
Your friendship is not required. Death and Life are pure
concepts of biological construct. Flee. And the deepest
mysteries have been revealed. My brain has locked them away
for that singular moment when my original thought shall split
it’s atom for all to be revealed. Revelation. Like a kiss
within the cold that tears the flesh from my pouted lips.
…it comes soon.
:: 04-03-2019 ::
1 Comment | tags: #poetry, #surrealism, #words | posted in #poetry, Uncategorized
a whisper is loud a cry softer
then tears as frozen rivers
like Time itself piercing your
dying heart. Is love. Is life.
Is death in a purest form.
:: 04-03-2019 ::
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my life is and will be bitter sweet there on a road
and any road it goes. Waving hello behind me and
many goodbyes before me. When a child my mother rubbed
eggs upon my sick body. The mystery to the universe is
nothing more than ignorance. We are less than children.
And most born so deeply within sleep we never awaken.
Hello. Yes, today was cold and full of tear drops
from a swollen sky. The water broke and the child
was stillborn. It lays within a ditch next to the
homeless squirrel. The dead birds have been dying
mostly near a house close to my heart. My footsteps
are at least two feet from terror and one from
resignation. Humans. We are.
:: 04-03-2019 ::
Leave a comment | tags: #abstract, #poetry, #surrealism, #words | posted in #poetry, #words, Uncategorized
i have eaten the face of god whose thick
body created the mega-verse. The fly upon
the dank wall accuses me of creating sin;
but only dark matter is to blame. It hides
within the jewels of Creation. My libido
murdered untold numbers of unborn sperm
and ovulating women conspired to hide
this truth deep within their vulva. We
are all murderers eating the flesh of
fallen innocent creatures that cannot
speak to their defense. Even a plant has
a voice if we only carefully listen.
The world of humans is an asylum of
demented souls. Do not visit us.
:: 04-02-2019 ::
Leave a comment | tags: #poetry, #surrealism | posted in #brilliant wordsmith, #monster, #poetry, #words, Uncategorized
IT is by pain within my Soul
that i hardly know you
by sight or by taste; i grow
at night by dreams and wishes
within imaginary throe
— i weep for love my love
by love for love all love
and then the rift
within my heart of reality
the closer i come to you
within solitude
practicality always, always
i know — comes knocking upon
the unknown room’s door /
the light so bright
upon all nights as stars above
we love we love we love
the elusive angle of our hearts
and fate that gazes as fields
of jasmine raising dawn and
her brilliant warmth — is love,
the love all love sang by Queens
and Kings and Surfs and Peasants
; are as the angels.
Our Souls, as love!
:: 04-01-2019 ::
Leave a comment | tags: #fuckOFF, #poetry, #poets, #right, #words, #writers | posted in #poetry, Uncategorized
f a me is self-immolation one’s lower lip s t retched
over a brain absorbed in self.
it is the itch within a brain
only satisfied by a serpent’s
tongue licking the inside of
your ear with it’s fanged mouth;
only then can it enter your
Soul. And dead popes know.
My chest knows the gravity of such horror: the earwig
crawls up through my armpit into my throat and passes
nasal cavity into my Mind.
Chasing these ephemeral ghosts i avoid food; to starve
is godly — as death. My anus dots the exclamation mark of
my spine and angels cause me a dull pain.
:: 04-01-2019 ::
Leave a comment | tags: #ink, #paper, #poetry, #thoughts, #words, #writing | posted in #poetry, Uncategorized
E.P. Robles | Poetry 