A HUNDRED POEMS – XLVII (Rev: 07-20-2016)
THE Smallest is a thing
no name barely, just
echo memory.
Just the same
Such a stain
that still remains,
within my brain,
the smallest thing;
fragmented memories.
of every THING i
created with my
own Love__ i am a
damned heart.
\
:: ~~~~~ ::
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 ::
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 ::
THE world is committed to insanity;
our words stacked as skyscrapers
allow ants characters to escape
flooding water
as drowned bodies float
past the windows of office space.
:: 04-25-2019 ::
e.p.robles (c) 2019
OUTSIDE the silence the machine
E A T S my liver
screws my tender insides.
For all the failures wishing
i could not think of living
the beautiful memories
of yesterdays /i’m a failure
of tomorrows\ rolling dead
eyes in a river & thick
rooted hairs screaming |
THE END COMES so easy
watch the sunlight dim
in a moment all dream
time screams by(e)
dear___i knew not of you
but married twice believing
–>take/took my heart
and slung it around the sun.
OUTSIDE the machine
eats you & me. screws
our tender parts.
:: 04-20-2019 ::
f a me is self-immolation one’s lower lip s t retched
over a brain absorbed in self.
it is the itch within a brain
only satisfied by a serpent’s
tongue licking the inside of
your ear with it’s fanged mouth;
only then can it enter your
Soul. And dead popes know.
My chest knows the gravity of such horror: the earwig
crawls up through my armpit into my throat and passes
nasal cavity into my Mind.
Chasing these ephemeral ghosts i avoid food; to starve
is godly — as death. My anus dots the exclamation mark of
my spine and angels cause me a dull pain.
:: 04-01-2019 ::
MY heart in hot summers have I
rejoiced while heat has spiked
my chest — as watching the sun
sink below purplest colors
of pink and darkening clashing
tears of mightiest strength
and the joy of love and
children’s laughter do always
save my soul and heart
gives me defying peace
and erodes scorn — my
lone might against darkness
opposing!
:: 03-10-2019 ::
Anger’s division ate my heart in bites
so small the moon spun around howling
at wolves — lady / God \ rivers
sequestered Souls; i died within your
arms and death too — we go up and down
with angels whose burning wings light
our Souls
We took refuge in truth and we go up
and down and scratch away lies
— the little lies eat life
|||the bigger you give the bigger
you get and sometimes we forget
the Spirit needs food and we
scratch away the flesh from life
; is such the little death every
day we breath/we live in small
spaces wishing kisses resurrected
Love and all our biggest dreams.
:: 03-08-2019 ::
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E.P. Robles | Poetry 
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