Did you see? I dropped my phone
three times today
by noon
And it has yet to break but
I am trying but the devilish
device is strong!
unlike me
I dropped by three before sunrise
and four before I hit the door
that greeted me
the world is strong
but me; that broken heart!
And it does seem so adventurous —
the one accustom to guises and masks
so I fade I melt
And the sun laughs a million flames
that lick my burning skin
and I’m free to walk alone
away into oblivion
:: 04-08-2015 ::
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 with no curiosity
nor enjoyment for life
each knock upon my
chamber heart ignored!
THAT door once built
upon intoxicating power;
a wilted stem o’ flower
is how I see my soul!
A ceaseless disregard
for popular accord
I wish to spread
the seeds of prose
and watch the flowers grow!
and before you ever thought
of Spring did you ever see
the bluejay sing?
:: 04-10-2015 ::
My smiles are all inside
a jukebox attic of your
forever never-forgiving
bone cave mind!
I have a chisel sharp-thought
bringing me 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 ::
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 ::
Today it was the, “short-sharp” pains
of a 5th Avenue-dressed-like soul catcher
that teased my spirit to life. Tomorrow
I believe the Southern attire with bare teeth;
a Mississippi-mud soul variety who will greet
me. The crickets have clamped their thorax-
heart and swamp frogs bellied up in boiling
bayou of THAT ONE. There’s still Southern
Comfort!
:: 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 ::
The morning’s yawn is street-like sounds after
pre-dawn rains. I remove the stems of my waking
body from bed. This day the sun is a lazy un-
procured star that hasn’t yet met her bride but
the horizon hides hungrily behind the promise
of a martial morning. Yet again, today I divorce
last night’s dreams from today’s wakeful place.
:: 03-18-2015 ::
if by the largest mistake
i should find love
then by that mistake
i should be measured by
when mountains have crumbled
and oceans be dry
i shall embrace my mistake
and too, remember my life!
:: 03-18-2015 ::
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E.P. Robles | Poetry 
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