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)
poetry is more than words
it is a stage
it is a canvas
it is the sky
and more
by colliding objects
by smothering silences
by squelching shouts
there is the rhythm
of a post-language
with images
with idea
with signs
eventually born
in eternal force!
:: 05-10-2019 ::
e.p.robles(c)
No need! No deed. Just now the sun has
come to rise (and you are proud?) that her breasts
are spread upon your bed. The spider laughs near
the tightest corner of the room, but shameful you
forgot her name. To those that have offended me
none more than disheveled men who call themselves
gentlemen. Mother! Let us succumb to temptation
that brings us to harm.
:: 05-07-2019 ::
bits and pieces of my mind some inside
a thought and mostly in pretty clouds
this secret, through the bowels of waves
kept it until this now. i, i cannot feel
pity; strong waves drowning rocks
and breathing fish — through severe orbit
furious eyes wish to remain calm rather.
A halo of glittering gossamer obscure
the periphery of your third-eye and
i cannot speak but say intimate horror
is unbearable during daylight.
so i scream. without mouth.
scream deep inside my stomach
wishing this strange novelty
of isolated nobility stops prowling
around my Soul.
:: 05-08-2019 ::
the Dolls scream in laughter plastic tears
fall into fiery flames while i pass away
into a false floor beneath my Soul — the
cymbals clash with a grimacing monkey making
noise and the angels’ fingers pinch while
pulling me away from the madhouse of my Mind
— let me go! IF all my Love was a cult
of fake believers within me then sweet dreams
and what i know i face myself so go
erase my existence within your minds; all
you thought of me. All my intention,
brought to service of just cause, against
raging disturbances of insanity.
i love. i breathed. ate.
married. divorced. tried
against all odds to survive.
:: 05-08-2019 ::
L’amour est où la colère fuit
mon humble demaor n’est pas
culte de la personnalité;
se supporter
dans l’amour
l’autre si profondément
cet amour recouvre
cette multitude de péchés
est l’amour
Qui? ces cœurs donnés
à la vie contre les nombreux
leaders d’incertitude. Non.
Les quatre amours; romantique,
famille, fraternelle et de Dieu
l’amour divin nous donne le pouvoir
être la personne dont nous avons besoin
Être … oui, oh, oui.
Le message crypté
maintenant trouvé et lu.
Je me suis atteint.
:: 05-07-2019 ::
i am one breath away from death and my
efforts are useless; the walls built
of cut stone are shocked by my bleeding
nails. My brain i saw it curl up
in steel and bounces like elastic
thoughts — my Soul never breaks so
a pity that i cannot rest. My Spirit
as an eel.
Oh dear, my dear. To those i love;
the blue skies the green waters the
lovers within their cocoons of ecstasy
never speak but touch each other’s hearts
/oh love\ Today i thought so high and
touched the ground and around around
went my mind; south as north so east
as west darling we flow with the wind
of Nature — she knows … go i go i go
so i am one breath away from death
and my efforts are useless …
:: 05-07-2019 ::
LOVE like dreams come true
as i am thinking of you
SWEET sleep like every night
that;
i go through
not forgetting of you
but having love-like dreams
all of you
Then at times i am dreaming
of why i cannot forget you
Because of you
that i shall never meet you
no, i could never hate you
instead i have sweet dreams
of you.
:: 05-07-2019 ::
e.p.robles (c)
Upon sensual Spring came birds
cacophony of hymns in chirps
was sanctuary from fatigue
of Soul and Mind.
Trees. Flowers.
all of destiny’s needs;
no mouths no lies.
Savior, lying upon the road
with broken bones and torn
lip hung like a cross; His
feet slices, with supernovae
eyes and wavy hair. My arms
reaching toward his lane
as life-traffic bombarded
effort. i am the unworthy
reaching for cosmic purity;
the human wanting to touch
Eternity. Incoherent words,
which i cannot speak here.
Upon sensual Spring came
birds. Their song marking
my Soul and Mind.
:: 05-07-2019 ::
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E.P. Robles | Poetry 
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