What is GREAT CREATION?
painting or love?
writing or drawing?
the bleeding organ of
an artist knows.
it kills before he
is done. plastioning feelings
morbid thoughts i found myself
inside a tangle of trees
: and worried scholars are hairy
loved brutal: epitome and swum
across the seas. I screamed as
a virgin!
Category Archives: #abstract
THE WHORISH POET
ANCIENT HEADDRESS
(a very long time ago. i praised bewtween
two great poets)
from a hill i caught the last verses
of Will Shapespeare
— a paintful story from a sistering vale,
so silky moment with no end this double voiced
accorded, and lay my head within the biggest bosom
of any woman: a sad-tuned tale; my perfection
is a twisted selection that tangles souls; above
her head barbettes and torques of misty streets
so ancient from then to now: a favour of plaits worn
on each side of the face.
beauty and love are not aligned.
it moves with seasons of eonic time.
:: 08..02.2020 ::
ESCAPING A VIOLENT SKY
escaping from a world full
of images and a tiny screen
full of memories
i died not reaching 10k
rage rage said the light
but my shadows grew
i forget what they want
i forget the stone of my birth
you held it ; go
i’ve had better days
with myself and pink skin
;imagine the danger imagine
forever –> they get what
they want they get what they
need but never again.
:: 08.02.2020 ::
TO BE SO SAD
TO be so sad that your tears
flee you is the greatest depth
of sadness.
the perfect point to hit upon the
diamond: shaving off all humanity
and anyone else…
whoever gave
a damn is not anyone
i ever knew and that tears me apart.
breaks my heart.
I watch from the tiny window of my
decaying Soul.
::: 08.02.2020 ::
THESE TIMES
THESE times are
not good times
— see, the luck
the world’s had
could make a normal soul
turn bad \the last time i
dreamed i dreamed the world
i once had; so your love (lord
knows) is off the market till
August. Funny faces and
bad jokes help Her to laugh.
saying, “you’re bad product
so your friends are all gone,
you survive.
this time:
these times,
like everybody
else.
:: 08.02.2020 ::
WHEN BLOOD MEETS MOONLIGHT
\ after the worst of days
of any age –on these nights
when blood meets moonlight
never feel bad for me.
i was glad
to grow upon any night
so winds sing sounds–the
gates are near
ii.
when i wake up–Over there,
framed by a heart whose ventures
i love; take me August nights!
after the worst of days
of any age
on these nights
when blood meets
moonlight.
:: 08.02.2020 ::
THE WORRIED SCHOLARS
hairy love is brutal
i kissed the epitome
and swum across the
seas — like i screamed
screamed before: you’re
so good — more than love
could wish for more —
i do not love you but because
i love you i die every word/
wishing scholars worried about
my thoughts –> i cannot protect
for their degree is a back city
trance; hahaha \ studying
me.
:: 07.31.2020 ::
WE SHOULD SHUT OUR MOUTH
an ECHO of LOVe
created me
— i am sun
& freshest air
— the perfect moment
for Love (or a latte
with an attitude)
i am no one_____
i am the memory
of delicious thought
and the feeling of flesh
against flesh/we shine
criminally when we’re two-
as-one.
:: 07.31.2020 ::
MISSISSIPPI RIVER
the stairs became more
tiny as i took each step
until i had to step upon
nonsense
— i thought of those
muggy nights in a trailer
by the Mississippi River:
so perched inside my fear-
just a boy in the early
70s and my skin made it
hurt. so beautiful
is the world — but we pay
with emotional destruction.
:: 07.31.2020 ::
Recent Comments
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 
You must be logged in to post a comment.