hairy love is brutal
i kissed the epitome
and swum across the
seas — like i screamed
screamed before: you’re
so good — more than love
could wish for more —
i do not love you but because
i love you i die every word/
wishing scholars worried about
my thoughts –> i cannot protect
for their degree is a back city
trance; hahaha \ studying
me.
:: 07.31.2020 ::
A heatwave visited today carried by winds and star tears; it touched me.
A vanilla taste warned amygdala as I was cycling back from hill country
away from dust beasts that live beyond the wooden bridge near the
dried out lakes of lost souls.
That infernal star dropped across the horizon and bounced from Dallas
to San Antonio leaving burn prints like dots begging for carbon pressed
lines between death and destruction.
I almost made it home but the star tears started to fall and such power
is resistant to prayers and dreams.
As they fell the Earth opened up like onion paper against a furnace.
I forget everything at that moment.
forever.
:: 07.25.2020 ::
for the true artist — art is bifurcated
into many brilliant pebbles of expression
and many will hate you for it___smear
your work deeply within their heels –>
& tell the kids you are the devil.
Say again?
wait until i whip
the tar from my pants
(she was brought up religiously
silly-like) i cannot wait
to play guitar! Oh say release
the stress of any shooting star
— where is the one /sometimes
in winter\mostly within the sun
we go. hate to leave but the moon
comes (like a kid) over the terminus
of Earth.
:: 07.23.2020 ::
THERE is a word that publishers
prefer, called
:::::::::::::::
S O L D O U T:::::::::::::
like a flower that bees prefer
and prostitutes of words
call CASH-IN like a white guy
named MICHAEL who couldn’t get
his poem published changed his
skin changed his soul and a name:
–> YI-FEN CHOU <—
makes me sick
literal whore
literary star
so sue me like all the waves
of a blue ocean i live within
and BEST AMERICAN POETRY
can go suck my cock
(hehe) better if with ink
like a false witness //lost
my patience for writers so cheap
they feed their egos with fire
and ashes of babies called poems
go fuck yourself
:: 09-13-2015 ::
 | Damien de Soto on Could I Be |
 | EPRobles on Could I Be |
| Damien de Soto on Could I Be |
| Damien de Soto on Drowning in Fear |
 | romanticallyinclined… on A PECK OF KISSmOuth |
E.P. Robles | Poetry 