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 ::
A WORLD too much – – so morning broken
sun and soon the place of much:
a waste of beautiful powers: that we see
spending sweet wages upon vaporish
fantastical wishes;
Romeo as Juliet — little light of Nature
that might have been like the fresh Sea
bares creation through destruction — sand castles
of me less forlorn;
Oh sweet new faults teaching me i am a new born
what moves us is not but through Great God
hearts out of tune; my mind is not evening
but morning’s eager Triton who blows his
wreathed horn. Fresh from Eternity Unto
This World.
:: 06.22.2020 ::
TOO TASTE SPACELESS NOW
purple heart hazelnut eyes
a beautiful world
& how they all crawl
upon your skin: a nuclear
field /so i have never had
that much time…, feeling
brain-traffic as you fly
back into space-time; sweet
naughty girl my Emily D.
:: 05.03.2020 ::
Ok, I know so promise me
you’ll mind the facts:
– it wasn’t alive
– it was promised to the night
– it’s head has no heart
Like your MouthIS everywhere
no innocence; just Weird &
so White::she spats in little
bits, “I’m rich I’m fancy”
(man on horn: blue mercury
llup revo — pull over (YOUR
mouthIS everywhere) and her
head is full of EVERMore |
ok, i know so promise me…
:: 03.30.2020 ::
It’s a complicated world
ruled by pain and fear
Everything’s ‘will you swim
or will you fade’
the smallest things
hold us back
the madness outside
these walls
are nothing compared
to what’s within my halls
Brain traffic: s/o confused
grid-locked & neurotically fused
Drain my Soul
Brain traffic: over/used
fear-porn-fed till your dead
then Life’s on hold
it’s all Inside your head
BRAIN DEAD.
:: 03.27.2020 ::
We’re dying meat all inside
unexpressed confessions so,
kill me /dark deep dive
all for your pleasure re-
gardless of type of weather:
we guard your dying MEat
always dying for your meat’s
car-crash weather/we live or
die is not a question for any
Soul\
:: 03.22.2020 ::
ABANDON all senses to catch the dancing fire
of indescribable emotions trapped deeply within
the Soul of No Mouth —
tell the birthing stars our carbon body is as old
as their grandfathers and grandmothers but our love
and great Tiny minds grapple with
inconceivable thoughts
but mostly of grand words structured tightly around
the Spirit of the Poet!
:: 02.29.2020 ::
WITHIN sunlight the shadows are more
defined.
My skin is relived by the sunburn.
I did not follow her down to a bridge by the
creek but rested upon the trunk of an
e l e p h a n t.
Then again mostly upon knights and queens
i am sleeping. The cornerstone of Life
is part sleep — the rest is made of dreams.
::01.26.2020::
|| send me to oblivion where the soul never begs — ‘sometimes’ is always
winning over ‘always’ even though (mostly) things of great concern are
never present / living on the outside but dying on the inside \ i climb
upon my silver cord and find a place to hide ||
seasons are nature’s Living Kaleidoscope
the colors absorb the shadows
:: 02.04.2020 ::
 | 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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