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)
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 ::
UPON Dali’s lashes the clocks have
melted persistently as Time
battles weak waves of gravity
And then (that some whisper) a
name murmuring midnight we all
stand before the Cosmic God
who has No Name; maybe “Ah.”
As glass cocks turn to stone
the soft touch of skin burns
and then a charming strike
of lightning buries the lips
of ruins /my mother has hips
that born a grown fetus
through the strongest arms
of all forgotten women
And my heart drawn by Picasso
my face by Jesus and my Soul
by Space.
It is here
the engraving plate that
printed all humans /but the
hand of that apprentice
has left us for another
universe.\
:: 03-29-2019 ::
Creep. Inch-Crawl here.
Thrum’p dead weight slide
Join-locked SNAPPED
knee raised /
/
<FOOT) swoop goes
that beast down the alley
of arrow needs || caused my eyes
to hemorrhage S h at tereD my
heart & MIND. Threw away UP
over and beyond hope @shameless
@ erased existenz am i — YES.
:: 10-05-2018 ::
THESE terrors squeezing life
the unraveling || greatly suffers
a crying child with tremors and
mobbing monsters walking
with shadows || when your mind
is struck in terror like this
aaagh! Save the angels but
forget me –brave the light of
day where terror shows it’s face
{gripping the throat} is the greatest
horror of all __i am a madman bleeding eyes shut
and acrylic paints the INK the most!
Tyrant! Is fear the most!
:: 09-17-2018 ::
… absolutely maybe if wings flew
without a bird’s body and the air
lifted ground as outer space
filled inner spirits
then all things might be
equal and if so then what?
Zero.
Which is arguably a ‘something’
less than 1 but greater than
less than zero.
Words.
The devil’s insidious plot to
madden the human mind with
intangible monsters that chip
away at the glass floor we
all ignore and rarely look
down upon
we might see the super-
structure of reality then.
What then?
HORROR.
:: 09-21-2018 ::
I had run out of it i’m out of it
mind you my mind that ran away
first by feet then by train
paxil was her name a rotundish
hard skinned pink pill of a pimp
so sleeping a tossing flipping
dreaming dream i witnessed a mess
messing up a dream:
this slot of sliced land jutting
with clapboard housing a shouting
with roaches a toasting the best
of a meal they boasted
the strangest of stranglets in
a land of stranger piglets;
two step eddie backed up to a window
owned by a rider, says he with
back to a drive-thru widow, ‘take
this shotgun, won’t need it, take
this broad sword too, and take this
forty-four again won’t need it,
i’ll keep this grenade cause it
needs me more — see that man there
, snagged my lawn cutting his own
, watch me walk over there.
Two-step walks over there and pulls
the pin and once again they do like
they do the owner of that window
was a copy-cop over 44 and says
to eddie, ‘don’t pull that pin you
sons of guns, sons of burning suns!”
Pin pulled, trigger pressed two slugs
in the valley of the deepest cracks
of two buns and all is done.
And the female dog under the oak
toking-tree says to her male friend,
‘your banging will wake up the
recently dead if you don’t stop
banging and start more slapping instead;
no-step eddie tells the devil he
needs to brush his tooth but forgot
his teeth brush under the bush.
Never cold turkey Paroxetine
and slip to sleep on a Monday.
:: 06-26-2018 ::
“That’s alright…” he cry he cry he cries.
“we’re all alive on the inside and you’re
my friend my friend my friends
and i’m gonna kill you.”
Like we’re all holed up in a delirium
hotel and when he’s done you’ll know some
things you didn’t know before //oh let it
rain let it rain let it rain to kill the pain\\
“A crack in the window a world in a hole and
i want you to see the magician, a fire eater,
the fat lady, serpentina, sea monkey, see honey,
see my flipper feet and we’re all here just to
make a dollar and then you’ll have to go now.”
And all the time the ticking timer inside your
head tocs and knocks for a last call on the
dollar deal –> always showtime on the inside
of your heart but the soul’s dead!
And so we wait in line and do the time oh what
a pity oh what a crime!
:: 05-21-2018 ::
Within the tapestry of life
goes the Mind:
the rest of flesh and bone
remain cat-like;
a sleeping prostitute
of time.
And within heaven all of the
interesting people are missing,
or so says Nietzsche.
But within hell most everyone
says the intersection of Canal
& Mott Streets in Manhattan are
a killer.
And a chorus of drunks fooled
by numbness and unencumbered
by care drown out the naked lunch
of fear and rejection.
That’s the mind singing, you
know.
So few sensuous souls and
so many meaty mannequins!
:: 04-07-2018 ::
