HERE is a silent moment
bathed in calmness
and unfettered within
Light and Comfort!
i do not ask of its
origin and do thank
its presence, Life;
so like a solitary
flower growing from
within the cracks
of the world’s side-
walks.
:: 02.08.2020 ::
along the shorest road ever (a treacherous journey) an opening appeared before me;
bright equations bleeding time squished all memory of what i was i am or might be–
A preponderance of suddenly)meets the long Shaman of My Thoughts. i lassoed upon
a moat of dust (cherubs swinging cherubs singing) & road myself)not that way(toward
a whole certain corner )_and touched mySelf searched mySelf…forget mySelf when i
think of who many broken Kewpie dolls cry silently foreverfully and mySelf and
myHeart and mySoul invent grand ideas of an Enormous Language
that touches all hearts.
:: 02.07.08 ::
i have r e a ch e d beyond the earliest and now dying starts
over hypnotized whispered secrets within an ear and f i n d ing
mySELF lonely on this planet.
Escaped and hanging within my Darkest Dreams — away from all
social scenes /i saw a butterfly soar away just today; upon
its back carried all my lighest Dreams/tomorrow morning
i will save my life again so save my strength i scatter hope
across these azure skies with hope and love.
:: 02.08.2020 ::
HER voice — must have been how
her spoken voice was bland
so savory over lettuce leaf–
how it’s not my time; please
never forget how precious new
memories are.
bad products win again
bad product wins again
:: 05-14-2019 ::
e.p.robles (c) 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
IT is midnight; somewhere a storm has
overshadowed a Soul, in others, the storm
is a brilliant reprieve of false peace;
and words pour as molten gold.
A richness of undetermined wealth measured
by Spirit and not human needs.
I have become equal to fear and peace —
this i discovered with my never-closing eyes,
take away this discovery and many others
to share with all fellows. The proof of
existence is a blood-penned period at the
end of a written sigh.
And i write this previous sentence in honor
of Isidore Lucien Ducasse.
To discover your feelings have died and
the skin is a roof for a cemetery! This
pain causes me to pull upon my eyes until
they fall to the ground; and to realize
sympathy is a symphony of sensitive angels
who love us all.
To me; i love you. To everyone else, you
have been my teacher.
:: 04-16-2019 ::
e.p.robles (c) 2019
My neck has stretched above the clouds
the Adamic Apple tickling stars —
and my Love is here and there upon
every footstep i have walked.
Life is not just Pain.
Nor just Love.
But fear and Joy
Morbidity and a shade of nudeness
IF the Soul is inclined to explore
God’s backyard. Cowards! Most of us!
To shade your shame within religion
or a sense of higher ground for weak
voices. Shame. Shame upon the lot!
The Sun is brilliant.
and still your mystery!
:: 04-03-2019 ::
FOUR blankets upon my skin
my feet horizontal off the ground
and still my balls ache like fire
like fire i’ve been away
from love too long /don’t make it a big deal\
Spectrophilia saves me at the end of the day
No sleep no dreams i’m attracted to ghosts
and the many images within all mirrors
and the love of a dead poet named Emily
Dickinson; come to me dear, don’t forget
me — i’m too sensitive And your body
is verse to the space inside the dying
heart of my bruised chest.
And only you could ever could ever
understand — its all within your prose;
to touch these things i gently hold.
:: 03-21-2019 ::
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 ::
Of course! It is apparently
— so, do you also know?
and how did you realize it
— too, by two’s, four’s
or even more?
We’re mad.
And now it’s written
so there it goes!
A dream, a thought
as a bird does soar
of course! And now,
–now, aren’t you glad.
We’re mad.
:: 01-06-2018 ::
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E.P. Robles | Poetry 
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