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the science of silence.your arms form a barrier, blocking out all sound,
all thoughts,

there is nothing but you.

you.

you are the only thing that
can make a buzzing fan
sound like a butterfly;
a creaking house
like a lullaby.

moaning wind and soft footsteps,
    tickings of clocks, downstairs.

but you made it feel like a soft cocoon;
a weightless wall of something golden:

                                            &
The stormCartilage-smooth azure extends
above bent heads.
Furrows   s t  r  e  t  c   h       b    e    y     o     

                                 the edge                       
My WinterCardinals will
                drip
from the branches like
berries
and the sky will turn to smoke.
The ground crunches under your feet and it’s
Almost as if you could
         sail away
across the ice.
Brandished behind screens of glass
are fists of ivory
They are covered in scratches and
         bloom
from the dark like magnolia blossoms.
napoleon at sevenan old guitarist sitting
on a watercolor hill,

plucking on six strings absent.
two halves of breasts running near

under van gogh's starry night,
under black-white guernica.

everything in all jigsaws,
everything in trepid cubes.

a girl before a mirror
with violin and guitar,

sitting with three musicians
and a woman with her book,

stippling all realities
of intangible maternity.

hours yielding from dalí's clock,
minutes sub-the alchemist

like rain, like raining, like rained—
portraits wilt with abstract smiles.

clear sfumato, oh still life,
napoleon at seven.
winter footnoteswinter footnotes
e.bojnowski

your elbows were anchors
in a softly-lit parking lot,
where you sang to glass and paper:

and your visions are quiet hills
your visions are shy sounds
your visions are sheep covered in frost.

speaking
loose tongued,
like an old shoe-

that dry rasp
that leaves me covered in skin flakes,
leaves me
brushed onto the wall .

I am the raised bumps in spackle-
ripped off with the sound of a poor phonograph:

in my chain link home,
a residual ghost.
The Vampire and His Servant I                                        The Vampire and his Servant
                         ________________________________________

As I fall on the withered ground,
I stare up at the darkening sky,
Tears pouring from my pleading eyes.
I want to be free from this hell…

Light footsteps sound, stepping toward me.
I turn my head, slowly, the fear sending chills down my spine…
Making my heart cold.

He walks towards me, his graceful legs carrying him closer.
His long black hair whips against his pale face
As a sudden wind makes contact with his slender body

As he reaches me, he kneels down in front of my crumbled body.
I
losing everything i never hadit's an early morning as the sun is rising, stepping into my mother's room and moving towards her bed, careful not to disturb the dark shadows on the walls, or the lulling silence that's filling the steps between us, i ask her when she wearily opens her eyes, "why was i born?"
her face held no expression, and she didn't reply
she didn't reply

i might as well not have gotten out of bed today.
i might as well be -
_____

and sometimes as i'm sitting in the passenger seat, i lose track of where i'm headed. i lose track of the fact that i'm moving, i'm moving somewhere slowly across a map. i'm moving with the world, and i'm just one person o
You Underneath
You
underneath,
brushing the willow,
swallow many branches, while
brushing the willow
underneath
you.

Silence,
they hear the
scratch, the bark
at the back of your throat.
Scratch the bark,
they hear the
silence.

You
underneath
brushing the willow,
silence!
They hear the
scratch, the bark
at the back of your throat;
scratch the bark
they hear the
silence,
brushing the willow
underneath
you.
satan threw me a slumber partyi’m tired
of you, and
i’m tired of
Miss Irony;

i’m tired of OCD,
i’m tired of poetry,
i’m tired of counting
and miscounting sheep,

i’m tired of losing my mind
to cosmetic con artists who make
more money than banks,
who make more sense
than a vending machine;
who make their mind up,
down,
not minding their dirty,
shady business.

oh, how i envy those poisoned Disney Princesses

i’m tired of blitzkrieg alarm clocks that snooze louder than me,
and
i’m tired of vinyl pinups (un)dressing up my hypnophobic lids
and
i’m tired of the poltergeist who keeps fucking up cushion clouds
and
Chalk Outlines
Hold my hand.
and together we'll walk into darkness. side by side.
together.
not to be torn a part.
our dreams trying to lead us into different directions.
We let them die.
like our stories. our friends. our hopes. our wishes.
they got old and worn out. We'd do anything to be together.
(We are a puzzle.)
We escaped.
the 2 of us.
leaving the world around us incomplete
like a big puzzle that's lost it's pieces.
(We were a puzzle.)
we outlined ourselves in chalk. again.
to keep us safe. to stop the outside world from drawing us back.
drawing us a part from each other.
To belong to something that didn't rightfully deserve to
ex
.- Blood Lust -.His hand, cool against my skin.
My warm breath carresses his neck as he leans back.
I hold my body close to his, pressing our warmth together.
Is this love?

I pull him towards me, and open my mouth wider.
His eyes flash towards me, shock showing in them.
I move closer to the warm flesh on his neck, my mouth aching to taste the blood running in the veins underneath...
Is this lust?

My teeth sink into the skin on his neck.
I hear him groan in pain, watch his eyes roll back.
His blood trickles down my chin, and it flows downmy throat.
This is bloodlust.
NudeI took off layer after
               layer.
I stripped myself of my sticky   c     n.
                                          o     o
                                             co

Wild briar         b
                        l
                      o
                    s
               s
s m    o                      flew away from me like bullets

                 leaving cyclamen bruises to bloom wildly beneath.

                               I rubbed off the blackberry syrup
                                      From my pallid temples
                                                    And
                 
I was Hercules in a past life,Set the clocks four years back?
Check.
Turn the fucking television off?
Check.
Adjust the volume on the radio?
Check.
Know what it's like to be you?

Well, let's not get carried away...

--

Yesterday,
I invented English;
I discovered Spain
in a hot air balloon
and drove to clinics
to patent electricity.

Yesterday,
I channel surfed the English channel
and developed an allergy to royalty.
And even though I had everything,
I still went bankrupt over medicine
you told my pharmacist I deserved.

--

Today,
I am the King of Clovers
and the Emperor of China.
I am the laziest kind of poet
and the worst liar since Socrates.

Toda
Degrees Warped By FragmentsDegrees Do Worse Warped By Fragments

I.
I sit among a contingent of fresh-faced athletes doing mostly
Nothing,

Reading a book on the crosses of cosmogony when I feel a hand
Tapping

On my shoulder. I turn around like a toddler's wind-up toy and
Find

No face to match the arm suspended in space by something unseen

II.
Faces of clocks abound on every wall I sit across from, next to or
Near;

It makes no sense to me. Half an hour will pass before I have slept
Enough

Hours, and yet exhaustion always accompanies me, even during the
Brief

Rush of excitement I feel when the clocks cease ticking.

III.
Library books are beginning to pil
busdust animals
loll and swirl against
fake forest leather

peering
(around sable beaststrands,
sun-sullied to pyrite)
at a garbled missive

scratched and misconstrued,
its stories unvoiced-

"warm is uncomfortable;
cold is far worse."
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Pull me Out...

:iconlemarquis:

Pull Me Out!

Pull me out!
This misery is
much to strong...

Pull me out!
Before my
love is gone...

I run away!
Took a shelter
in a pray...

Run away!
I have to find
love my way...

325

0 0 18
:iconlemarquis:

Pull me Out...by ~LeMarquis

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An old poem I did some
years ago, small but the
words are enough to tell
you a story of a lifetime..

Written somtime around
1996

LE MARQUIS 2006
©2006-2013 ~LeMarquis
Category: Literature / Poetry / Experimental / Surrealism

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Submitted on
March 30, 2006
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