the Penis inflates
the Vagina contracts
and Poetry bleeds
whites & reds
across the lips
of all HUMANITY!
:: 04-13-2019 ::
eprobles (c) 2019
Tag Archives: #words
sEX101
/AS WITH NICOLAUS COPERNICUS\
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 ::
Time Battles
UPON Dali’s lashes the clocks have
melted persistently as Time
battles weak waves of gravity
And then (that some whisper) a
name murmuring midnight we all
stand before the Cosmic God
who has No Name; maybe “Ah.”
As glass cocks turn to stone
the soft touch of skin burns
and then a charming strike
of lightning buries the lips
of ruins /my mother has hips
that born a grown fetus
through the strongest arms
of all forgotten women
And my heart drawn by Picasso
my face by Jesus and my Soul
by Space.
It is here
the engraving plate that
printed all humans /but the
hand of that apprentice
has left us for another
universe.\
:: 03-29-2019 ::
TO TOUCH THESE THINGS I GENTLY HOLD
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 ::
MAKING FLOWERS GROW
the mud between my bare toes have spoken: although i search
for someone as me in the world i am severely alone. My spine
sings a song by tonal qualities of pain; the burden of life
is heavy and it has curved my life. ? is its shape. Half
the shape of a voluptuous woman without hair. Her teeth
are enameled beasts with conquering breasts. Evil and Good
have confronted me but my reply: Go! I did not summon you.
Your friendship is not required. Death and Life are pure
concepts of biological construct. Flee. And the deepest
mysteries have been revealed. My brain has locked them away
for that singular moment when my original thought shall split
it’s atom for all to be revealed. Revelation. Like a kiss
within the cold that tears the flesh from my pouted lips.
…it comes soon.
:: 04-03-2019 ::
SWOLLEN SKIES
my life is and will be bitter sweet there on a road
and any road it goes. Waving hello behind me and
many goodbyes before me. When a child my mother rubbed
eggs upon my sick body. The mystery to the universe is
nothing more than ignorance. We are less than children.
And most born so deeply within sleep we never awaken.
Hello. Yes, today was cold and full of tear drops
from a swollen sky. The water broke and the child
was stillborn. It lays within a ditch next to the
homeless squirrel. The dead birds have been dying
mostly near a house close to my heart. My footsteps
are at least two feet from terror and one from
resignation. Humans. We are.
:: 04-03-2019 ::
BY PAIN WITHIN MY SOUL
IT is by pain within my Soul
that i hardly know you
by sight or by taste; i grow
at night by dreams and wishes
within imaginary throe
— i weep for love my love
by love for love all love
and then the rift
within my heart of reality
the closer i come to you
within solitude
practicality always, always
i know — comes knocking upon
the unknown room’s door /
the light so bright
upon all nights as stars above
we love we love we love
the elusive angle of our hearts
and fate that gazes as fields
of jasmine raising dawn and
her brilliant warmth — is love,
the love all love sang by Queens
and Kings and Surfs and Peasants
; are as the angels.
Our Souls, as love!
:: 04-01-2019 ::
DEAD POPES KNOW
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 ::
A HUNDRED POEMS – 072
my death(sentence) –> dies
singularly learned (stiff)necks)
scrutinized by prose(police)
a formality of academically
dusty halls; the light that
never falls —-
but my prose-eat sunlight
unstructured for the soul!
:: 06-12-2013 ::
E.P. Robles (c) 2019
MY HEART IN HOT SUMMERS
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 ::
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