and the homeless sing
while lost dogs howl
“loneliness is a friend
that keeps me warm”
And the moon says,
” All so sweet but so sad!”
i last had a Friend
named Armstrong who
visited me in 69!”
And like the poorest
they find kindness
in simple surroundings
and they never had
life so good for
a Saturday Night!
while the moon looks down
as an old man sings a sad
but sweet lullaby of love
:: – ::
when they come
with hands of dirt
from solemn sleep
so, they come
one-by-one too
they come, for all
forgotten dreams
the never-bee’s
humming buzzing
with hands of dirt
from solemn wept
a life that never lived
:: 02-05-2015 ::
When i swore today
on a still summer
edge come flowers
to play
So long ago
i haven’t been
home for so long
and in a shape of man
the snow was gone
it’s the sleep of the dead
and a letter of some summer
like a dusty road
his body wore nights gone
all within snow. And fairies drew near
I saw them dancing in the leaves
and eerily played in rings
My soul grew not to fear them
And i was taken to a place
the Hall of All Knowledge
to play with to-morrow;
and death holds my heart no longer
and when i swore today on a still
summer edge come flowers
to play — so long ago
i dream to be to-morrow
only the heart knows!
:: 02-05-2015 ::
AND when the world has fallen upon the cavity
of your sunken chest go out into the day,
feel the sunlight and how it’s warmth has
become lit sheets of icy fingers upon your soul,
and know the bright yellow bulb in the sky
is a world of fire and ice.
And when your soul has slender-ed, into a pencil
without its lead and your mouth is no longer
able to spell or speak nor write, then the world
is an unspoken ill without its Scribe; some
say He has died or was never born and others,
that he died nailed upon two pencils upon a hill.
And when you have grasped this meaning and you will,
then allow the world to fall through you,
and all the kisses, wishes, and well-spent days
of your life…
:: 01-22-2015 ::
AND when feathers
touched my face
I did well upon
grayish skies
Upon stormy nights
as heaven opened
but denied my soul.
And pain comes upon
sheets of forgetful
promises
i placed my mortal
feet upon Luna
and pushed aside;
what I do well.
I did well, when
walking through the
forest and chased
the fairies across
the golden line
and found my soul;
their land seems
phantasmagoric
(unlike mine)
:: 01-17-2015 ::
Climb –>
so high, climb!
across the culture
and dividing line
(of religions)
What I have seen
is so noble!
Fortunately we have
pigskin suitcases
–> watertight
beating within
our bursting chests
I saw an angel
she blew me a kiss!
:: 01-17-2015 ::
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 dreamed disgusting me
and see my hands so red
leaving pain and hurt
the dream i hated became
what I ever was
just a child confused
and i wished when i pulled
apart the wings of butterflies
i could be a wingless one too
so i am and never flew
like my butterflies we walk
oh yes, it burns butterwalk
each step from flight
oh, burn, burn! I could
never say what I mean
and express in my words
what a little boy feels
when life was crushed
from his heart so I smile
seems the wings died
when I walked out the door
another person into the world
And I forgive the shadow
who kisses me instead of love
I saw a spark inside my heart
it separates life from death
and butterwalk between both
:: 12-05-2014 ::
I GAZED into the mirror’s back
there I saw the world’s eyes
the beauty and horror
of all our humankind!
Even my own eyes I saw
weeping for a blind eye!
:: 11-10-2014 ::
1
I thrust my head upward
though skewered by
my sharply limping words
and see the prose in my veins
of the promise for clarity
in this wet bag of blood!
When does flesh ever know
purity when decay is it’s friend?
2
That I know when an eye sees
the setting of a sun
another sees it rise!
And what of love and death?
Does the same eye see heaven
while another hell which seems
to be all the same as the sun?
I believe the impossible is true.
3
And the parts of all of me too,
see long beginnings and someThing;
the abstract as if it were insight
by my own admission I am delusional
And time melts the salt from my tongue
Its vague touch asserts a personal nature
but I am not soulDead, it’s not for me
in the cosmic corner Jester cries
:: 11-08-2014 ::
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E.P. Robles | Poetry 
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