A PALE SOFTISH ROUND COFFIN
SKIN can make me cry as roses. Scents of a female? for i do forget
spoken clearly; i am not afraid of death but life.. to have control
means relenting focus for a perfect soul. my questions are purely
my own as though if i ask, ‘what has become of you?’ the world may
never know but i am here. my heart is a shape of a pale softish
round coffin yet to be buried within your mind.
:: 09.17.2020 ::
A Night
as a falling note
upon the wishes
oh those dreams
of Life/
we go
…rushing river
passion bursting
the silver-Moon
you come
we go
over
there
!
:: 07.23.2020 ::
between thoughts
such depth
my heart sank
–today.
The widow of Souls
now am i –? or
a mirage of god’s
weaker image?
this does NEVER
matter within my
own heart; i am
any-and-everything
i wish to be.
& MORE!
:: 07.22.2020 ::
THIS POET WROTE:
while leaves march down an empty alleysuddenly she is barely holding upon the blue skies /of punch red-blue\of a galant southern magnolia sweetand fresh of a sudden burning smellfruit for the fallen souls are we forever together.
far so for father trick of mind/here is a Strange Tale\upon his tomb stone. this POET WROTE
:: 07.13.2020 ::
o f c o l o r fulSOUNDS that died when this novel began as the stars are falling i wonder why have i been waiting so long to be here — where i once said, “where i am going?” All within your sunshine i found the light shining through; the barking trees and dogs crying; this seasonal salad between your thighs /within the sunshineLOVE\ i climbed up to tie all eyes to not feel shame giving angels such surprise –> that i am with you and my editor cried:
” you have been waiting so long;to be where you have been going –within the nectar-sauce of LOVE “
so i finished beating my glyph-heartstaying within you now until the Caesarof LAW has waited this long — to belike-ever your seas could dry upwhere ALL WISH GO;/jk324323423\ within the target of PASSION.
:: 07.13.2020 ::
HOPING is a giant hammer, terrifying, and insane
at tender times, while the heart hides away;
crying like laughter releases compressed
emotions — this is no wrong or right but a golden
trumpet, teeth shattering upon each note played___
the paunch of my feelings gilded wainscoting.
Wonder ing if Heaven has graveyards — the hope
of dying twice/once in hell upon Earth the other
one inch inside the pearled gates.
:: 06.20.2020 ::
onlyLiving organs ever care
colorful laughter from their scars
tell the terrifying tale
of them all
of them all
they tell us what to do
explain to us what to do
so tell us so tell us
whatcha want to do
To be a bright reason that burns the sun
(can you help me in?)
Rock the storms who rock the ravens
on high; onlyLiving ORGANScream
on the EdgeOfNight.
:: 03.06.2020 ::
if the sun announces her heat is waxing i shall gather up fire from the four corners of the universe and feed her stars by the dozen.
the world is moving. skies caressing the soft and sometimes abrasive contours of Earth. An entire carnival of spectacular events announcing their presence to any and all who are aware.
That my pen never dries is no reason to fear insanity.
It is how the mini-cosmic froth of ideas are born within our kind.
Stay true. Stay firm. Stay within that which provides you love and warmth. Write.
:: 03.07.2020 ::
THEN the skies bellowed a frothy glitter and d o w n became up &sideways
turned horizontally truthful said the vegan Aardvark. THE Policeman chewed his
m0uth-
side and a Red Ant crawled out from his nostril damn-us (Quatrain 173) &
my pillow has luscious lips from some disembodied woman who once cared
for me. The rest of this deliriousprose is buried in an unmarked book within a discount store on the far side of the Moon.
::02.??.2020::
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
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E.P. Robles | Poetry 
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