AND how many skies
for a single soul?
Just one and none,
if it may be!
The Soul is higher
than any sky when placed
upon soil;
its eyes toward the sun always
and when released
from skin it paints
the sunrises
for all to see!
:: 04-10-2015 ::
And like smiles that seem to go away when the blue
becomes all my heart
And all of the world slips from my fingers too
in moments such as these I only wish to kiss you
and ignore the jesters
those who I never knew
So I sit upon a ledge and watch my time
upon a blue marble turning carelessly
when all I need is you
And I have come to know those jesters are masked
they’re all my faces killing me
expect for the memory of you.
:: 04-06-2015 ::
You’re so finely woven
a stretch of time upon
my eye and I dream of
colors to shoot across
your clean white face.
My painting! My canvas!
My own heart chambers
so shy! You have sat there
for three months and haven’t
had a period since then.
Upon my easel you wait,
hmm, wondering if you want it.
I forgave the paint-brush penis,
who penetrated your hymen.
You bled for days and I was left
with the mess of a baby
who still cries for the breast!
So the milk shall flow across
the gutters of a dirty street
and your artistry will refine
the masses of this garbage-
filled world of empty heads.
:: 04-06-2015 ::
So finally my weak organ!
she is the tears
and fed the flowers —
maybe the greatest
act of this soul,
what hugs me!?!
i am more weakness
than wave or wind!
to possess the skin
of human.
it disposes me!
:: 03-23-2015 ::
A butterfly clip
thin legs sun-tanned
she rolls Beethoven
and who makes seaside
shores — she’s all the tide
a seahorse gallops
She’s got the future
sticky contradiction
of diplomatic treatment
And I’m so painfully out of touch
within her shores!
:: 03-23-2015 ::
My smiles are all inside
a jukebox attic of your
forever never-forgiving
bone cave mind
I have a chisel sharp-thought
bringing me a freedom
and you wish your highness
could bring every man
to his knees. I forgot my
parakeet who speaks
all the seedless words
of your tongue.
To wait for a simple sentence
conjures an ink-dipped heart.
I’m just a tattoo kiss
upon your heart.
:: 03-23-2015 ::
I have a devious
minor chord
: it begat life
which I knew —
the fallen stems
of walking
lifeless shadows!
I could hug a
section of any
street if it
loved only me!
and the god-
damn birds
are lovely lean-
ing Songstress
words I am
compelled to die
for! Raw throats
of morning song
— I die.
:: 03-23-2015 ::
It’s the experience
of life that sculpts
the soul!
I too wondered why
then knew! My flesh
spoke too loudly while
the sun baked my fields!
I had the ultimate choice:
to tend to flesh or clean
my own — I choose life
and damn the flesh!
:: 03-24-2015 ::
i love the silence you give me
so still and quiet
contemplating your situation,
so appreciated! And you
haven’t said a word
— forever
ever! i saw your eyes;
coins kept in place
any opportunity for you
to see! A pity. But lovely
how the stitches crawl
up toward your heart
keeping promises forever
oh, um, forever sewn
like it’s so much grief
a life cut short by disease
we can scientifically call
fucking life.
yeah. YEAH! And you
and Mozart decompose
the score of a thing
called purple life
it’s only me so don’t cry
and you smell…formaldehyde
but your lips still grin
:: 03-08-2015 ::
That distance once between
us- that quiet
balance of silence
and will to be strangers
has died;
I buried it the other day
while holding ancient pottery
and then i became alive,
forever yours
:: 03-08-2015 ::
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E.P. Robles | Poetry 
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