IF YOU HAD A WILL and testament
would it be written and read
within your perfect shapes
of curves and s-plashing reds
and of dying flesh?
AND if everything around you
is not quite as what it seems?
so if everything you ever
knew was just an elaborate
dream? As Narcissus would you
look upon your image and find
yourself afraid to see?
Hunting forever(y)
things that mean nothing at
all but the treasures all always
around you.
ALL CREATIONS OF YOUR PAIN
:: 07.12.2020 ::
humid times along the line of the ancient Mississippi a River of mystic currents
THROUGH TIME he asked me to cut a stem of sugar cane under the sun and gave me a
Trapper lock knife (1918) — and cried.
it was fine a fine day for this young boy. aLWAYS meeting dead souls.
:: 07.10.2020 ::
THAT HAS never approached the eternal
light of my Heart
as: Nunc rcm unguentorum,
relish the night as
when tears are not enough
the end is closer
toward a new beginning
than the fears recessed toward
that One who Always Lost
but ——> but not us.
:: 07.10.2020 ::
BORN within the C R-A-C-K
of road and gutter fighting Tears like
no other feed me; feed us; save the
fetus [if not for the madness
within the air (BRAIN!)
maiming us_____/\/\
/\___]it’s okay to SCREAM\
the horror of this DAY!
oh rain oh rain oh REIN!
the virus of covered9’s
upSIDE down (listen now)
are three by three – OH!
–>digging within the brain
–no rain!
:: 07.10.2020 ::/
/
/
her mouth is like the
fine bust of all sounds
\life given /now re-
ceived/wander through space
my profound love with a
hidden face.
(could not help it)
i grEW into a GREAT
smallness’t
that walked the dangerous
forest of my carpet
i lost the lie of physicality
while dreaming this dream
of life —
no one truly sleeps
we are always HERE.
:: 07.10.2020 ::
smallnest is now a word
SITTING so little is so… This little
would-be bride in a Kind of cellophane
yellow-red candy dress
like misery reaching
its hand tearing fine
garments of feelings I am becoming
millions of broken shards of
eyes that find me so disgusting
blue windows – pink rooftops
dirt, sunrises,sewage ditches
and the petals of picked dying flowers
upon my refrigerator ~~ (i use to have purpose)
My eyes still blind from prehistoric light
while the screams and moans of assaulting life
rant through Gotham! With no voice!
:: 06-11-2015 ::
rev: 07102020
LOVE my love never dies
sometimes weak but you keep
a fire lit between us
In the night such a might
between us
in the night such strength
bequeath us
such delight the arrow
of Cupid binds us
as one
Never leave but believe
such a gift so rare
is Our Love.
:: ~~ ::
FORGIVE me that i know:
yes is a pleasant country —
while floating within a deep
blue sea ; who is your master?
THE voices sit me before a
grand window opened wide
to smell summer heat and
burning petals are a jumble of
flowers bathed in blue air and
fire. Every living thing is
heavy-breathing and bewitched
and terrible; the World consumes
and rebirths beauty in her blossoms
of rose-rich honey.
:: 07.05.2020 ::
THE bed a crime scene of sorts
a passion spilled in sweat
willingly i go – to my death
he comes to me in the night
a sword sharpened by lust
and thrusts it into my soul
mother, i’m ready to come home
but the line between pain & pleasure
is small compared to the pleasant death
the coroner will say an untimely passing
but my murderous lover knew the timing
each plunge of his knife ever deeper
— // —
small GIANT lover like me
alone ]\]
little locked cedar box
i am was like-always
trapped%caught
within your flesh
and tender h e art
oh hey oh wait…
i am smaller(wondrous-YET)
now! oh! inside a forever priceless
Soul i walk like a f i n e S t a l l i o n
inside? INVITED warmth Orchard
ANGEL’S hair & babies breath/!\
i am the bleeding broken hymen
of your precious Heart\ oh hey wait!
i have scars oh my goodness girl__
like when the evening hushes the Day’s
Light oh you’re invited so invited
unto my private mind&Heart.
never A complaint!
listening to this night
:: 07.03.20202 ::
 | EPRobles on OWL MILK AND INDIGO SMOKE |
 | Adam Fisher on OWL MILK AND INDIGO SMOKE |
| EPRobles on ECSTASIES OF THE REPULSIV… |
 | R. Marshall on ECSTASIES OF THE REPULSIV… |
 | Stefan on ECSTASIES OF THE REPULSIV… |
E.P. Robles | Poetry 
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