if i lie within
my bed of pain
let’s call her death
and my sheets i’ve woven
entwined dreams of youth
that i took your breasts
within my mouth
i weep!
and to see how life expands
into a thin string of weakness
and of your-heart
and smile
too i’ve seen thinly die
i ate the dreams
from your mouth
and arguments are stupid things
spectral ghosts of hungry love!
but your eyes and lips and hands
are just as ghostly to my heart
as years that creep away
so do you!
:: ~~ ::
Did you see? I dropped my phone
three times today
by noon
And it has yet to break but
I am trying but the devilish
device is strong!
unlike me
I dropped by three before sunrise
and four before I hit the door
that greeted me
the world is strong
but me; that broken heart!
And it does seem so adventurous —
the one accustom to guises and masks
so I fade I melt
And the sun laughs a million flames
that lick my burning skin
and I’m free to walk alone
away into oblivion
:: 04-08-2015 ::
AND how many skies
for a single soul?
Just one and none,
if it may be!
The Soul is higher
than any sky when placed
upon soil;
its eyes toward the sun always
and when released
from skin it paints
the sunrises
for all to see!
:: 04-10-2015 ::
And like smiles that seem to go away when the blue
becomes all my heart
And all of the world slips from my fingers too
in moments such as these I only wish to kiss you
and ignore the jesters
those who I never knew
So I sit upon a ledge and watch my time
upon a blue marble turning carelessly
when all I need is you
And I have come to know those jesters are masked
they’re all my faces killing me
expect for the memory of you.
:: 04-06-2015 ::
You’re so finely woven
a stretch of time upon
my eye and I dream of
colors to shoot across
your clean white face.
My painting! My canvas!
My own heart chambers
so shy! You have sat there
for three months and haven’t
had a period since then.
Upon my easel you wait,
hmm, wondering if you want it.
I forgave the paint-brush penis,
who penetrated your hymen.
You bled for days and I was left
with the mess of a baby
who still cries for the breast!
So the milk shall flow across
the gutters of a dirty street
and your artistry will refine
the masses of this garbage-
filled world of empty heads.
:: 04-06-2015 ::
So finally my weak organ!
she is the tears
and fed the flowers —
maybe the greatest
act of this soul,
what hugs me!?!
i am more weakness
than wave or wind!
to possess the skin
of human.
it disposes me!
:: 03-23-2015 ::
A butterfly clip
thin legs sun-tanned
she rolls Beethoven
and who makes seaside
shores — she’s all the tide
a seahorse gallops
She’s got the future
sticky contradiction
of diplomatic treatment
And I’m so painfully out of touch
within her shores!
:: 03-23-2015 ::
My smiles are all inside
a jukebox attic of your
forever never-forgiving
bone cave mind
I have a chisel sharp-thought
bringing me a freedom
and you wish your highness
could bring every man
to his knees. I forgot my
parakeet who speaks
all the seedless words
of your tongue.
To wait for a simple sentence
conjures an ink-dipped heart.
I’m just a tattoo kiss
upon your heart.
:: 03-23-2015 ::
I have a devious
minor chord
: it begat life
which I knew —
the fallen stems
of walking
lifeless shadows!
I could hug a
section of any
street if it
loved only me!
and the god-
damn birds
are lovely lean-
ing Songstress
words I am
compelled to die
for! Raw throats
of morning song
— I die.
:: 03-23-2015 ::
It’s the experience
of life that sculpts
the soul!
I too wondered why
then knew! My flesh
spoke too loudly while
the sun baked my fields!
I had the ultimate choice:
to tend to flesh or clean
my own — I choose life
and damn the flesh!
:: 03-24-2015 ::
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E.P. Robles | Poetry 
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