little be my Soul
what thoughts
do bring joy
a misfit my heart
that tripping
-forgiving debt
of my strange life!
To swear i saw
the cosmos
within your eyes
this i keep
to myself!
the little-Be Soul
of my tragic heart
and Poets Know;
Life is but an Art!
:: 02-10-2015 ::
It’s been some hurting time: I lost it in a dial of fountain garbage youth — catfish mouth hooks and I never saw you sorry inside
Boreas is colored freezer pain! I haven’t had a hand job or pie Since the government gave me opportunity or more chances than churches where Jesus hangs on solemn walls while
flesh bags cry and pray for all their sins in a covered wagon somewhere in the 1950s black and white television. Gee I never knew ancient ones wore makeup and butterfly Lips like a hungry flower in a whore field. The sky gave me her scars like purple vaginas missing periods for months.
And Billy went to the store to pick up a jar of fat pickles. She never reached behind the curtain but I had my dummy and a fist beneath his cheap shirt making all the moves of a failed life.
11-03-2014 ::
I loved it when alive
and now so cold.
I crave it more,
to be contented
just like me;
if just a breath
it speaks i should
love it like
when it lived.
Until the grave
it buried lay,
in it’s dreams,
and all my tears
i have the key
to unlock the life
that lives in me.
It lives within
a drop of tear.
If I may have it
when it’s dead,
I crave it more
if it speaks.
I should love it
like when it lived.
:: 11-11-2014 ::
UNDER the silver-eyed moon
where it always hangs
it spoke by way of Monday
i saw upon the horizontal
fence the eyes of a cat
too, its eyes spoke
and three eyes now
upon my soul, counting me
— five in all
Soon the clouds had shut
the moon, meowed the cat
and skipped away
leaving me with two
i could watch Rome
with five but two —
too few for my to-night
But the cat exquisitely ran!
But not so elegantly the moon!
And me, two eyes two feet
two glazed, too stiff
where i always hang
:: 11-11-2014 ::
the shadows, yes the shadows
have rebelled!
what of the world?
is it these things almost
human-like they mean?
where vacant words are
their stare?
i cut myself upon their thread
unholy cosmic beings —
i’m snared, nearly there!
— death!
the corners of my eyes
neatly tucked within “aware”
the shadows, yes! the shadows
have rebelled!
while the veil of “unaware”
reveal the angry souls
i hid within the forest tree
and begged the light — take me there!
:: 11-10-2014 ::
THAT broken hearts
wear a s oul,
and faith like
long-necked geese
i wished to be
the swan upon
your pond
where solemn eyes
speak no word
and life-like
silverKey unlocks
my mind
—it’s a spilled moonbean —
upon a silver lake
and my webbed feet
of that floating mouth
gliding silently
upon my life
:: 11-07-2014 ::
 | 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 
A DEAD SEED IN THE SOIL
THE first heart to be loved by its most bitterest
friends has died broken and destitute; a worn
flag flown across all this ruinous Nation
of an Anti-amorous planet and dirty children
throw their mud-crusted hands into the air
and weep for their heroes and whores and addicts
say, ‘Tis the last day of Earth’ \\ Let the shadows
swallow the deepest throats of Hollywood
Let the tendrils of Unforgiven
snake through Wall Street
and Squeeze the puss from
the Wallets of Hungry Warlords
but save the Unicorns and
the Tender Butterfly-Lips
of all the World’s children!
06-13-2015 ::
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