WHERE ALL m i n d s
meet when resting
is where I wish to be!
Perchance b e neath
a blooming peach tree?
upon the cusp of the lips
of a smiling clown or
Y E T
\–/ within the bosom of my
u n k n o w n
lover )0)0) is WHERE I WISH
t o be!
I love my ;;–> better
than you!
:: 06-09-2015 :: rev 1.1
and if words were
fruit
upon a vine
and sun like wine
i could forever
taste sweet life
and be drunk in love!
and if you ever
met me, i too would write
a greatest prose
describing you:
the glory called Love!
:: 02-21-2015 ::
When i swore today
on a still summer
edge come flowers
to play
So long ago
i haven’t been
home for so long
and in a shape of man
the snow was gone
it’s the sleep of the dead
and a letter of some summer
like a dusty road
his body wore nights gone
all within snow. And fairies drew near
I saw them dancing in the leaves
and eerily played in rings
My soul grew not to fear them
And i was taken to a place
the Hall of All Knowledge
to play with to-morrow;
and death holds my heart no longer
and when i swore today on a still
summer edge come flowers
to play — so long ago
i dream to be to-morrow
only the heart knows!
:: 02-05-2015 ::
y IS a nothing, little KNOWN
childPAIN dead while LIFE
walks in [EXPLODING room]
walk! cry,
i had a spoon
babyMouth and SHOUT
‘why!…oh why! Meaty-hand
across the tender skin ofTears
sorry you forgot Jesus and
angels; Pontius saved me
and I ate tree bark days
so sorry while i sing
‘I am so me, alive
i am so child…’
the boss walks through
in my remembered blood
blood, song, words, pain
and i (h)ate the flesh
of my life!
y IS a nothing
little known child
dying each moment we
question, ‘is it so
is it so, so? i’m
still alive so alive
and i burn so burn
burn burn burn burn
all the lost hopes
of love that never
tried as hard as me,
just aFreak needing
the love of Jesus
:: 01-09-2015 ::
It’s been some hurting time: I lost it in a dial of fountain garbage youth — catfish mouth hooks and I never saw you sorry inside
Boreas is colored freezer pain! I haven’t had a hand job or pie Since the government gave me opportunity or more chances than churches where Jesus hangs on solemn walls while
flesh bags cry and pray for all their sins in a covered wagon somewhere in the 1950s black and white television. Gee I never knew ancient ones wore makeup and butterfly Lips like a hungry flower in a whore field. The sky gave me her scars like purple vaginas missing periods for months.
And Billy went to the store to pick up a jar of fat pickles. She never reached behind the curtain but I had my dummy and a fist beneath his cheap shirt making all the moves of a failed life.
11-03-2014 ::
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E.P. Robles | Poetry 