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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 science of silence.4 years ago in Surrealism

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

the edge The storm4 years ago in Surrealism

When we left medicine behind5 years ago in Surrealism

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.My Winter5 years ago in Surrealism

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.napoleon at seven7 years ago in Surrealism

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.winter footnotes4 years ago in Surrealism

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 The Vampire and His Servant I5 years ago in Surrealism

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 olosing everything i never had4 years ago in Surrealism

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.You Underneath7 years ago in Surrealism

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
satan threw me a slumber party4 years ago in Surrealism

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
exChalk Outlines7 years ago in Surrealism

.- 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..- Blood Lust -.7 years ago in Surrealism

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
Nude5 years ago in Surrealism

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.

TodaI was Hercules in a past life,4 years ago in Surrealism

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 pilDegrees Warped By Fragments7 years ago in Surrealism

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."bus7 years ago in Surrealism

BATAKLIK

Gümüş külçe pabuçlarım var
Ayaklarımın altında soluksuz yaralar,
Koşuyorum aklımın erdiği yere kadar.

**

Bir kör nokta büyüyor, büyüyor
Büyüyor
Çorak toprak oluyor her yanım.
Avuçlarımda tohumlar
“Hadi yeşert!” diyor,
Kalbimde bir yorgun ses var.

Ama bozguna uğramış şövalyelerin naif kalkanlarından
Küçük ateş kuşlarının ışıklı gölgesinde sonsuzluğa sızan
Ve çaresizce kavrBataklik4 years ago in Surrealism

Despair under moonlightMy little darling,
blackened by the moonlight night;
somehow your skin is
falling into shadows, into shadows.

Little pieces of the moon
fall into your eyes;
the stars escape
into the curls of your hair.

The sunlight flowers of your irises
have gone out.Despair under moonlight4 years ago in Surrealism

The Vampire and His Servant V

             PLEASE READ THE FIRST PARTS BEFORE YOU READ THIS ONE!!!

                                     The Vampire and His Servant V
                  &#The Vampire and His Servant V5 years ago in Surrealism

Anoche morí.
Estaba encima del minutero
Cuál pasos son crujientes
Y mi niñez, mi infancia
Era el pasado lo mismo
La ciudad hermosa lo que nunca puedo volver
El sueño lo que nunca he visto
La pesadilla lo que nunca puedo sentir
Lo que nunca puedo dormir
Ya no sabes que es dormir las pesadillas
Ahora yo tampoco
Y ya no sé tampoco cuantas veces
Mi caballo negro caminó al galope
Alrededor del círculo
Aunque estaba encima del minutero, mi caballo
Que es un erudito frágil y esclavo

¡Paciencia! La noche es corta me dije
Tan la vida
La vida es más corta que una noche
EL RELOJ4 years ago in Surrealism

Perceptible, Inflatable OdePerceptible, Inflatable Ode

Filling
Up so much
What’s going on?
I feel so full; too full
Why are you doing this to me?

My breasts
They’ve become
So very round and upright
Tight with air that stuck to my navel.
Why are you doing this to me?

My stomach
Pregnant; no past that.
Growing into a beach ball
Taunt and filling, widening.
Why are you doing this to me?

Wait
Now my butt?
It’s filling again my pants
Stretching and groaning the poor fabric.
Why are you doing this to me?

Limbs.
Now it goes
To my legs and arms
Bulking up with that air
Plumping into large sausage cases.
Why are you doing this to me?

OvPerceptible, Inflatable Ode6 years ago in Surrealism

The Vampire and his Servant 9                                                    The Vampire and His Servant IX
                             ________________________________________________

             The Vampire and his Servant 94 years ago in Surrealism

Haunting ShadowsTime slips away,
Like some sort of sand,
Its colours fade between,
The forming gaps in my hand...

The clock ticks on,
And I just have to glance,
At the shadow behind me,
To know I don't have a chance...

I turn to face it,
"My soul?" I ask,
and the shadow nods,
And moves on past...

It takes me to the rooftops,
To see from the sky,
To see everyone I have hurt,
And have made to cry...

"But, why?"
I ask, with sadness in my tone,
He turns to look into my heart,
And shatters every bone...Haunting Shadows4 years ago in Surrealism

KATAKOMP

Bir sürü ayakkabısı olanlar
Bir müze beslerler etlerinin altında
Çünkü gidenler ayakkabılarını yanlarında taşır
Ve gömer bilmedikleri bir şehrin tren garına
Herkesin içinde herkes kadar yatan
O büyük cenazeye.

Yosmalar
Sokakların kara kedileridir
Geceyle gündüzün arasına girerler
Bazen de senle benim
Çünkü ben geceleri uyuyamadığımda yosmaları düşünürüm
Çünkü onlar da beni düşünür
Senin giKATAKOMP4 years ago in Surrealism

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