BLAH, BLAH & BLAH
strolling through my dream one time
i met a vein bleeding and asked
it: ‘should i imagine a life
is worth dying if not
according to pleasure?’
a rose (as in a rose by any OTHER
name…) spoke in fragrance:
my eyes sniffed romance,
my heart burst the ice with
living heat of my Soul.
THAT WAS MY ANSWER.
the rest is this:
blah, blah, blah!
:: 04-13-2019 ::
Tongue. Binded by intellect.
e y e s obscured by modesty
and lips tied by severity.
Sensual presence untouched
but begging love.
is poetry of my own thoughts.
what is ‘i’ have given two
mortal women my warm gift
of brilliant Love; t`hey
gave it back.
No more. the smallest
shattered pieces are bigger
than the smallest piece.
And Peace?
a cold loneliness.
Only Emily, my Emily
could understand. /her
eyes are elsewhere.
My heart with her!
:: 04-13-2019 ::
i am other. Of no known
description. But, then if you
love me then mostly certain
you un derstand me? Knot.
so many painful feelings
inside my head their weight
falls deep into my stomach
as biled foods. Suffering
:as reaffirmation of Living.
As the Dead only Scream
from their condition and never
from pain. Lovely colors
are lit this way. My tongue
moves but my heart is cast
against a formidable Sea
— you know me. Cryptic!
:: 04-13-2019 ::
e.p.robles (c) 2019
I.
ROMANCE begins
with a supernovae
as two
hearts decrease space between
walls and fears; the ice-floe
of painful life melts,
once powerful thoughts and
convictions now powerless,
against a force of Nature
If Lust then a brilliant lit
moment; if by divine guidance
True Love as eternal.
II.
Ages and Time perhaps roll by,
the music plays upon hours
and thoughts — ivory keys;
fear-burning minors of
weeping fossil time
four walls closing within me
The loneliness of a fractured
soul and it’s heart’s broken
shattered pieces bleeding
blurring terms of surrender
;the etiquette of death:
none shall bury raw feelings into the ground
III.
All industries of silence
rituals and formalities
they burn deeply
they weep tears
life as muteness
rigorously executed
the form of History
a blueprint of Life.
IV.
my Hand deeply within the bowel
of my gaping Mouth! Offensive to me!
an ode in grief and anger
now mired within surrealism — abstract!
a hole dug deeper and larger than Mind
a Mind deeper and larger than holes!
i scream with my illegitimate voice
raped, pillaged, torn, and sworn
by lovers, brothers, father and mother
my soul’s water broken — still born
you cannot answer useless questions.
:: 04-11-2019 ::
My neck has stretched above the clouds
the Adamic Apple tickling stars —
and my Love is here and there upon
every footstep i have walked.
Life is not just Pain.
Nor just Love.
But fear and Joy
Morbidity and a shade of nudeness
IF the Soul is inclined to explore
God’s backyard. Cowards! Most of us!
To shade your shame within religion
or a sense of higher ground for weak
voices. Shame. Shame upon the lot!
The Sun is brilliant.
and still your mystery!
:: 04-03-2019 ::
MY freedom is skinless AND it flies
sometimes when i am at a red light
and other times within deeper dreams.
The madness of existence encased
within meat sickens me. i dream
of carving myself out of wet matter.
But the blood red is beautiful.
Nothing compares to bleeding Life.
Metaphorically and Literally.
Tragically. Romantically.
LIGHT also cries.
within colors of flashes.
Supernovae. In ways that
no human ear has ever heard.
Nor eyes have or could see.
The heart knows.
An experience beyond HUMAN.
:: 04-03-2019 ::
JESUS cries!
you look within
my eyes: what do you see?
All the dreams — and
anger. My ego never
died says an apostle
50 pieces of silver
like Mussolini and
Hitler /soil soaks
souls\ you knew ! ||optics
24 hours coverage for
eons — Babylonian
dust like crustal shift
many civilizations ago
all a part of life
& death on this rock
called Earth. Recycle.
Replenish (fucking)
building towers of stone
and sweat and tears!
You the One called Evil!
Don’t! No! Stop! Pole
stiff and shift we’re
washed away once again
as the World ends.
:: 04-03-2019 ::
Give me a number tell me a lie
call me broken you taught
me evil then i knew:
I will find my way
into you. And then
the skies called me i knew
i would someday find you.
I AM YOUR NAME I AM YOUR WAY
she smiles she sings
“My name is vengeance oh yea
my god is Anger my legs are
strong.”
So i walk inside the desert
i walk within the sands eating
my poison — so shameful | i
heard ‘liar’ i smell fire
the fingers of god drew
my heart — the well of water
saved me from His anger.
And Love survives my weakness
|my body is ruined. My mind
is heartbreak: walk to me.
Devour our Love.
:: 04-03-2019 ::
Eternal sadness i
write. Within the beauty of literature
that i am embodied within, for, in my
excessively rapid writings of sentences
. simply stated: my weakness is the
elementary understanding of Time.
I do not grasp it. My mind is untethered.
And forgive me my precious readers.
No great magnificence (and who disposes
the element of time?). my little feet as
once i was a child were wet with the humid
tears of the deep south. Upon the Mississippi
River the sun seemed to lower itself upon the
muddy banks. the fish and the water upon
that evening lowered itself upon the horizon.
Swimming. On mind. On time. On Space.
The large legs of the Sunshine Bridge
broke its light. And within the distance
sugarcane sweetness. Is Louisiana.
My sweet land. My sweet tears.
:: 04-03-2019 ::
FOUR blankets upon my skin
my feet horizontal off the ground
and still my balls ache like fire
like fire i’ve been away
from love too long /don’t make it a big deal\
Spectrophilia saves me at the end of the day
No sleep no dreams i’m attracted to ghosts
and the many images within all mirrors
and the love of a dead poet named Emily
Dickinson; come to me dear, don’t forget
me — i’m too sensitive And your body
is verse to the space inside the dying
heart of my bruised chest.
And only you could ever could ever
understand — its all within your prose;
to touch these things i gently hold.
:: 03-21-2019 ::
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E.P. Robles | Poetry 
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