Author Archives: EPRobles

About EPRobles

Writer, Artist. I like to paint abstract acrylic images onto canvas. I love to read everything, and I especially enjoy science, philosophy, and the arts. I'm new to the blog experience and I very much enjoy it! I hope to learn as much about all the features that WordPress offers and thank you -- my visitor -- for taking time to read my words. Peace and love...

/AS WITH NICOLAUS COPERNICUS\

My neck has stretched above the clouds
the Adamic Apple tickling stars —
and my Love is here and there upon
every footstep i have walked.
Life is not just Pain.
Nor just Love.
But fear and Joy
Morbidity and a shade of nudeness
IF the Soul is inclined to explore
God’s backyard. Cowards! Most of us!
To shade your shame within religion
or a sense of higher ground for weak
voices. Shame. Shame upon the lot!
The Sun is brilliant.
and still your mystery!

:: 04-03-2019 ::


MY FREEDOM IS SKINLESS

MY freedom is skinless AND it flies
sometimes when i am at a red light
and other times within deeper dreams.
The madness of existence encased
within meat sickens me. i dream
of carving myself out of wet matter.
But the blood red is beautiful.
Nothing compares to bleeding Life.
Metaphorically and Literally.
Tragically. Romantically.
LIGHT also cries.
within colors of flashes.
Supernovae. In ways that
no human ear has ever heard.
Nor eyes have or could see.
The heart knows.
An experience beyond HUMAN.

:: 04-03-2019 ::


WE’RE THE WAITING

JESUS cries!
you look within
my eyes: what do you see?
All the dreams — and
anger. My ego never
died says an apostle
50 pieces of silver
like Mussolini and
Hitler /soil soaks
souls\ you knew ! ||optics
24 hours coverage for
eons — Babylonian
dust like crustal shift
many civilizations ago
all a part of life
& death on this rock
called Earth. Recycle.
Replenish (fucking)
building towers of stone
and sweat and tears!
You the One called Evil!
Don’t! No! Stop! Pole
stiff and shift we’re
washed away once again
as the World ends.

:: 04-03-2019 ::


FiRE

Give me a number tell me a lie
call me broken you taught
me evil then i knew:
I will find my way
into you. And then
the skies called me i knew
i would someday find you.
I AM YOUR NAME I AM YOUR WAY
she smiles she sings
“My name is vengeance oh yea
my god is Anger my legs are
strong.”
So i walk inside the desert
i walk within the sands eating
my poison — so shameful | i
heard ‘liar’ i smell fire
the fingers of god drew
my heart — the well of water
saved me from His anger.
And Love survives my weakness
|my body is ruined. My mind
is heartbreak: walk to me.
Devour our Love.

:: 04-03-2019 ::


LACRIMOSA. TEARS

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 ::


Time Battles

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 ::


TO TOUCH THESE THINGS I GENTLY HOLD

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 ::


MAKING FLOWERS GROW

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 ::


a whisper is loud

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 ::


SWOLLEN SKIES

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 ::