SOME. thoughts are daggers
as others are kisses
while hugs are squeezed
to contain BURSTING
joy: …my privately confessed
delusions —->. God please return
my m I n d \. THESE pesterous
Cherubs sending L oVE
air mailed /I delightfully collect
their stamps for the golden saliva
by cherubic artist can visit me
post return of my comatic brain.
unraveling|~|
08052019
© EPRobles 2019
WHEN the heart breaks
into halves,
what then left? Not a sigh
nor a laugh;
a cleaving of Soul or
perhaps?
the need for Nature
—- it’s glory & beauty
covers grief —
the Spirit surpass!
::08042019::
EPRobles c 2019
eye-GASMS are artful things
of flesh left out by the
woods / she went were-wolves
once ate meringue pie before
acquiring a human fedora and
impressed all the women at
the outdoor market where
butchers smoke meat and
flay cigars with white whiskered
smiles. Where were the yokes
when sadness crept over the
clouds and a comedian choked
on a badly baked joke. ?
::08042019::
EPRobles c 2019
A bicycle
of delicate heart
focused
in all gossamer, thrills
the minimal slice of time
; keeps my ‘no-one’ mind
thinking i’m here but then
i see i am there too;
Around it, demonic shadows
and scarred knees, bristle
i do for those rumors
humans devise:
i once lived so easy with
my eyes closed
didn’t matter that much to me
oh! bulb’s agitations;
that i never think others
are within my dreams
okay, too tune in when it’s
so fine My bicycle takes
me (me?) though i know when
it’s all a dream this ode
of Life!
:: 05-14-2019 ::
e.p.robles (c)
then,
after, as though my head a forest
there! A shiver down my spine;
with odor of roots in our nostrils
i am one to wish drowning next to this!
Like the ooze of a pregnant moment
we could kill this monstrosity
of magic! Murmurous you darkness,
sifting down from our head
Hearts are smallest millstones
as if anything really matters //
matters to me \\
:: 05-14-2019 ::
eye | someTIMES tear my
eyes OUT — found the last
sheep to COUNT no longer within
my MinD oh!so here we go:
In fall of light and highway,
a Child your hands upon the
wheels — him holding up in his hands
uLtimATE Delirium –\ now, here we go
–stop–
05/14/2019
e.p.robles(c)
HER voice — must have been how
her spoken voice was bland
so savory over lettuce leaf–
how it’s not my time; please
never forget how precious new
memories are.
bad products win again
bad product wins again
:: 05-14-2019 ::
e.p.robles (c) 2019
this static treatment of hyper light
–>th r us t : all mediums —
theater, cinema, drawing,writing,radio
streaming, on-demand /[dead; how can He
reach me? \]
All of my fits of term-rage are TERMS
in all literal sensibilities of WORD.
all borders of all mental space contain
the Soul bilocalty.
and your lovely and fearful emotions
are exquisitely horrifying.
The true image of Love.
:: 05-10-2019 ::
WORD is larger than
typist fingers
as emotions are as the
wealth of a single word
And as this mass of feeling,
when this thing is on point
of coming forth; our
fears, our demons attack us
with force
the word
the image
attacks the mass of feeling
life or death?
:: 05-10-2019 ::
e.p.robles(c)
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E.P. Robles | Poetry 
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