N0W I KNOW
i (s-o) have many dreams
but i don’t have
any plans
& schemes _so i don’t
have hidden anything
mocking misery!
oh iiiiiiiiiiiii
don’t have mystery
SINCE i don’t have
you — youohyou
you_________eating
cr5ying walking across
A’merica trying to find
precipice–> wild ridE!
my Mind is star wars
mind wars sweat -describe
sacred–RIDE: i am higher
than i’ve every BEEN _**&
now i know how i used
wish within symphonies.
:: .06302020 ::
AND your strawberry eyes
with a sweet liquor!
a ,”NOBODY’s” Spirit sang
\ my own heart!
(i need) A Sweet sender brought
a wind of over-under Wonder!
(calling un)in(to despair)
fat lady sing!how
i love a mostly Large-almond-Love woman
each famous heart finding love must
end in each of everything____ (so many years
pass since I first wrote my last note)
around a wounded mind
of little fingers! A n d love is no wrong
with(a lot of you and me the faith of spirit)
c o n f i r m e d in heaven’s
solid congress! –> the message with a castes
blue bottle unto the gaping mouth of hungry
Ocean!
:: 03-12-2015 ::
:Rev 06.23.2020 ::
A Tender b l each e d s k y
ooh see the reds & whites
i was not wrong but so further
from right (like whatever i do
whatever i do) what is large tearing
me are THE little things that kill
THE LITTLE THINGS that kill
i swear smothering my brain & killing
my heart and smile —— best to forget
so winter is SUMMER with you
it’s these smallest little things that kill
oh kill oh — touch my mind & lips
…
:: 06.30.2020 ::
A SMALL NOTCH WITHIN A CORNER
A LIFE — while i don’t have plans
schemes or plans: that i have
love then nothing other than loathing
wrestling with slow twilight’s
– ooh i don’t have love to share
and just the turning of a big hand
inside the soul’s clockwork dream___
ooh you ooh you ooh you ooh you
these eyes of my poet-spirit revolves
printed saddest lines__ and with my
misery i loved her, and sometimes
she loved me too. Through moments
as these i held her within my
arms—i loved her first and she
last and to kiss her again and again
under endless sky.
:: 06.23.2020 ::
i do not know any woman other than
Emily Elizabeth Dickinson that i
could ever love. spectralphilia.
A WORLD too much – – so morning broken
sun and soon the place of much:
a waste of beautiful powers: that we see
spending sweet wages upon vaporish
fantastical wishes;
Romeo as Juliet — little light of Nature
that might have been like the fresh Sea
bares creation through destruction — sand castles
of me less forlorn;
Oh sweet new faults teaching me i am a new born
what moves us is not but through Great God
hearts out of tune; my mind is not evening
but morning’s eager Triton who blows his
wreathed horn. Fresh from Eternity Unto
This World.
:: 06.22.2020 ::
\ Upon one hand is a large finger —
then the other a butterfly
oh hear the fallen rain! the gutters
of my lonely heart — it sings;
a melody before here unheard of!
The Smallest is a Thing of no name
barely, an echo of memories
–and just the same! Such a strain
upon this stain that still remains,
within my soon fragmented brain –,
the smallest thing; as butterflies
having taken flight from dark memories.
AND i remain always the same.
:: 06.20.2020 ::
DRESSED within your black frock coat
darkly lecturing among the dead flayed
and white faced interns — next to tunnel railing
with white cuffed sleeves sketching a prose unknown
and Dr. Franklin West studiously taking notes
— the operation upon a dead body has no mouth
to scream.
the conservative operation
for osteomyelitis /and amputation out of question;
an advance sight for its time — prevention of
infection is seen.
:: 06.19.2020 ::
WELL, that no one is serious at a young age;
–cacophony of laughter and endless nights
And avant-garde blaring cafes are the very worst
to clear a mind — if not a true poet.
— memories as shadows weakly limping and a liver
requesting what last drink you consumed —
i once strolled beneath a green fluorescent
light on the promenade//i once lost my tongue
and saw it caterpillar-like crawling on a fine
June night; i think then i lost my eyesight
and now require echo-location like a creature
that never spoke!
There! The fossilized town in amber-time;
everyone is frozen until i speak toward any
of them — for eternity.
:: 06.19.2020 ::
WITHIN golden fields of Wheat,–above dying Souls,
tender-pink hearted flowers, gray shadows behind
now: oblique thoughts around disks of sorrowful
memories that challenge the brightest of any
brilliant day,
i expected no thing THEN THIS!
upon a carpet of Earth, of silver filigree,
the emotions of pouring molten golden-pieces
of my feelings; two solid legs as columns
supporting this Soul of mine!
sapphire eyes off the cliff of imponderable
existence comes treasures around the rocks
of my spirit-river: the age of time an illusion
as any moment we breath — the chorus of singing
birds — young and strong!
:: 06.12.2020 ::
PRESS the flower & scents
into lab tubes //&\\
present futures ——
aroma pursue’d dreams
: so are WE of SOIL
the oblisque of Ancient
enticing smoke /ink within
Skin so Human taste:
echo say: we can-z
remember we are not at
all — wail wail wail
for air. We sleep +
AWAKEN.
:: 05.12.2020 ::
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E.P. Robles | Poetry 
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