[x]

on certain occassions fallacies exist for a reason[innocent is a synonym for boring
innocence is a symptom of ennui]

i'm not in the not in the not in the
mood
to be the knot in the noose: loose
unhinged. disjointed. you know:
you know the drill & you know
the drill in my head is always
impaling my skull & you know
there is no difference between
this psychosis & you. no. i am
at best your greatest parachute
(if you fall into the abyss of my
mind, you shall float, as gently
as a feather in the wind) i am a
zephyr at worst: a tornado sans
entropy. i am the #1 cause of a
broken heart & most dangerous
catalyst since 1991. more fuel?

fuel, for what?

cliffcliff
e.bojnowski

on velvet roads,
I impale a belated dawn
with my incisors and
shiver with perfect leaves-

I have no qualms
with the dark hills
that slope
and stagger into
a bed of scorched fly husks:

where
the thrum of the ground
melds
with the rapids in
my clairvoyant ears.

a ribcage drenched in dust i have your ribcage, you said.
what should i put in it?

i told you i'd always wanted a fire,
the kind that would fill my eyes with starlight
and pump my blood full of passion, but

you're made of wildflowers, you said.
a fire would burn you to ash.

you wanted to fill my chest with
the sound of a train, whistling
far away in the night;
with the sound of rain smacking leaves;
with the sound the wind makes
when it seems like it's trying to speak

and you wanted to throw in the
smell of midnight in august
and the feeling of sand being
sucked out from under your feet
when the ocean inhales,
and the strange little moment of
bitter

AntiquatedYour rose petal hips
Will always demur
To your ivory lace slip,
The stockings climbing
High on calves and thighs
Like a garden trellis
Near the blooming soul
Between your open legs,
The place where he
Could love you the most

despondenti.

"are you sleepy today?"
"yes."
"but you were sleepy yesterday."
"i know."

ii.

she stirs her pomegranate green-tea until it turns from clear to purple
setting it on her bedside table and climbing back into bed again.
her fingers follow the bluer-than-usual constellation veins on her wrists and down
to the freckle on her forearm and then the scar on the inside of her elbow
crossing the tendon as if it were crux.
and then she remembered that God hasn't been with her lately.

iii.

today is long and sunny but when she steps outside the humidity creaks her bones
and her skin starts to inflame.
she assumes that if getting the mail

preludesi.
blue rose into the city backdrop
like balloons, a million for the
morning sun prelude.

ii.
i've not slept a dream
but i have cried a salty face
and letters spilled like beans
into my moleskine,
almost as virgin as i once was
with few stories between my covers.

iii.
the kettle's belly boils
like my head upon a pillow.

iv.
i am guilty for rarely finishing my tea
even when i use the small mugs;
pour, rinse, repeat.

v.
perhaps today i will play dead.

vi.
perched behind my blinds
it dawns on me that i am surrounded
by walled neighbours, strangers,
they're just preludes to lovers
the way i am always
prelude to the one.

The Cat on the PorchYou asked me why I do not believe in ghosts,
celestial at four in the morning.
It becomes the common hour,
not a biting static shock in the eye veins like I anticipated
but dangerously vogue and precious
like a real diamond ring or sapphires on your breast.
No wood pecking or oil teasing or misshapen duck bills bleating
just clay, but lighter, lightest
and bright
seductive and crestfallen.

They bled Peter and Pangloss over a river.
I was wearing white for the funeral
humming 'home', the matronly letters
soothe me
clotheshorses and moonlight,
Mayan jewellery in my cabinet
the mother tongue kissing my molars better

But then there

starspunobserving the romanticism
of hooded cemetery kids,
smoking cigarettes pretending
they are not dead.

you were always so sure
about my uncertainty,
you watched
all my pick up lines
drop things.

we built the heat
of the evening from the solidity
of starlight,

pretended
that two teens at the park
at midnight
is the stuff of teen novels
(cliches dim on
our leaf-gold horizon)

your eyes darted
from the gray expanse
of the churchyard & wandered
in thoughtful
paths.

i wanted to ask you
if i could follow. shove
the words aside &
remember that i came here alone.

i remember our innocence
in the static b e t w e e n
stars

EurydiceHis voice enveloped me, and I became
Myself again--I heard it in the song:
A mordent on a note he held too long;
A stutter in his voice. I heard my name
In these and felt a happiness the same
As when I saw him first. Oh, I had longed
To hear him sing again, but this last song--
It was so beautiful. And it remains
The best of human works, though none shall hear
Its sorrowed notes; the lyre's meand'ring tune
Through vast arpeggios and Death's expanse
Except the dead. It will not disappear
'Till all the world's destroyed, and hell's exhumed--
Such music must be worth a backwards glance.

Star SwallowerShe's
an enigma.
her head, a stadium drowning with applause.
yet its seats are empty like the notebooks
where armies of words should be marching.
instead she dismantles clocks
thinking she can play with time.
behind the mountains lurks a darker reasoning
a twisted labyrinth of rationalizations
hidden from the suns brilliance.

Years alone beneath the bleached fluorescent
reading those already dancing in the moonlight.
she is living a literary half-life through them
hiding from the symmetry of the writer.
licking salty rocks of excuses.
saving her secrets for posthumous excavation.
decades of productivity left for moths to chew.
you're throw

moondust.we live in a world where our lungs are black and outlined with angry streaks of red. we plant diseases and destruction in the holes of our stomachs and watch them grow – they shoot up fast and clog up our throats with ashy leaves.

our fingernails are ripped, jagged edges digging into pale skin and leaving white hot lines in their wake. our wings are crumpled, feathers bent and pressing into the expanse of our backs – they're the weights on our shoulders, and there's no space left for anything else.

your tongue is cracked and so is mine. words no longer form, sounds no longer rise. dreams and wishes fall into the cracks as nig

for onceCold

blackempty

like the cavern where crimson vellum once resided

Drenched in reticence,
your empty blue eyes do nothing
but freeze the blood in these veins

surrounded by phantoms,
i lie in the dark next to your fading silhouette
between sheets that hold so many memories,
they are empty,

like the chestnut eyes that bore into yours

And as the rain falls harder
as it falls faster

washing down the streets
through deep alleys,
down endless roads,

for

once

just

once

i pray it takes me with

the day we diedIt started when space imploded
you pulled me back, landed me on the moon,
so we could sit in the vacuum silence
and watch suns spiral down to hell.

You radiated, my minuscule flare,
your worn heat baked my bones brittle,
but it somehow made me stronger.

-

It ended when your eyes slid lateral,
fractured feelings leaking out in tears;
it was the first and last thing
I ever saw again.

This ridiculous happenstance,
simple in its impossibility,
was what broke us apart:

While solar light is beautiful,
it blinds when reflected by
automobile metal.

the eyepatch and the handcuffs     his hands have promised
     to wipe off every fingerprint
     your last lover left on you

     he has sworn he will
     wear gloves, when he needs to,
     and pay attention to the instructions on the boxes

     "this side up"
     and "fragile"

     and you have sworn
     you will try to let him

     i hear your bodies whispering these things to each ot

in case you forgot: don't read this. just trust mein case you forgot:
i have the heart of a poet
trapped in the ribcage of
a tumultuous whore. i'm
a textbook charlatan with
too much nonsense & not
enough you

in case you forgot:
i have a fetish for third-person
pronouns & third-party interference.
you are the first, second, and third person
to invade all three of my parties with your
clothes still intact with your skin; with your
tongue still intact with your mouth-
an ampersand curled between your teeth

in case you forgot:
this stanza is a haiku.
god, i hate haikus.

in case you forgot:
i will drill your brain
with mindless repetition
until it is sore enough
t

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im the supreme ruler, measure the size of my stormi am the vice
president of virtue,
clenching the dear populace
with acid reigns

floods fall from the
enrapturing heavens,
i am (the) sin king.
strangle the rain,bow
down to me.
drown for me.
all hail the me!
all sleet the me!
all snow the me!
sacrif ice
weather you want
to or not

i am your god;
blasphemously
i am

prey for kuebikoi witness
a murder
of crows
hovering over your corpse
in the battlefield of a farm
like a needle in a haystack
(sew the needle in my eye;
cross-stitch the scarecrow
who never had the brains)
wolves ruin straw-houses
& i kill strawman-nequins
who cheat on me, but you
learned that the hard way

alien blackbirds
circle the crops,
crop you out of
your autopsy photo
because you ruined
such a lovely scenic
landscape with your
dead ugly grin & we
both know rigorous
sex before death
just causes rigor
mortis erections
which compared
to your sexdrive
isn't very
big at all

(but try telling that to your ego)

Evacuating Pompeii (or a rental car)Drinking your
Finnish slime
taste as salty
as teardrops,
which flowed
but moments
after I turned
left & left-

turned to passionless stone-
my mouth to a used vacuum
(its puppeteer-now satisfied,
forges the future)

turned me on
yet neglected
to unplug me
from the wall
where I re-

turned two
lines later.

Drinking your
Volcanic ash,
(Mt Vesuvius
tastes better)
your magma,
it still lingers.

i'd follow my dreams, but i'm an insomniacthis is neither the time nor
the place to tell you i souled
your nightmares to the devil's
mother for three dollars & six
sense—the same price as your
misshapen cardiomuscles.  or
that one time i went

skydiving with your ego,
crashing dead autopilots
in the middle of the ocean.
my pulmonary vessels sunk
as phantom limbs stretched
towards the maudlin dreamcatcher
hanging over your gallows bedpost
          the knots in my noosestomach
          tied tight strangled my ideas &

you disguise your lies as PROmises, well, CONmiseslet's make a deal:
i will promise to stop writing love poems about you
if you promise to stop disturbing me in my dreams.

do we have a deal?
no? oh well, you'd
break it
anyway

the author of my hippocampus needs a proofreaderan urge of jealousy
mixed with apathy
and a tint of every
open blood vessel
popping
in my vains

sprinkle my neurons
in your blender. my
chopped-up tongue
tastes sharper when
it's split in sevenths
(in spicy fragments)
i forgot to mention,
i forgot

the way your cursive
skeleton felt against
the heart of my hips

then i remembered you can't forget
something that never happened.

at (al)one-o-clock
i am an insomniac,
and sometimes i'm
a poetic amnesiac,
a librarian who's a
traitor to his spine
(please kidnap my bones;
let the shredder eat them
for dinner) drink their ink

my acerbic pen
is
running out of
memory space

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Submitted: November 12, 2012
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[x]

the back of your head against my washed pillowcase

by ~ChloroformBoy, Nov 12, 2012, 2:38:12 AM
Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

I find it
disconcerting
that
you are the King
of my own Head
& that I am
subjugated
by my own
temptation

My bones, your
welcome mats,
cushioned
to your insatiable
satisfaction

--

I find this
discomforting,
your constant
rebirths in my
libido, despite
three years of
silent therapy,
false recovery
& worshipping
the wrong gods

you are the best muse
for struggling artists
everywhere & worst
case of the bubonic plague
since the bubonic plague

--

I find you
disenchanted
in the middle
of any where,
peeling flesh,
lulling sullen
sirensongs at
3AM

I shot a flock
of phoenixes
& ate Adam's
poison apple
yet
I remain ignor
ant and ignor
ed by you

--

I find Nothing-
decontaminate
your stovepipe
& leave me be.

the back of your head against my washed pillowcaseby ~ChloroformBoy

Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

I had one of those dreams again. You were there, naturally, pretending you had better places to be, better thoughts to soil, better people to bless with headaches.

--

this stays between me & winter plathogens

Daily Deviation

Given 2013-02-05

the back of your head against my washed pillowcase by ~ChloroformBoy ( Suggested by `LiliWrites and Featured by `thorns )

love 1 1

joy 2 2

~~wow 0 0~~

~~mad 0 0~~

~~sad 0 0~~

~~fear 0 0~~

~~neutral 0 0~~

~NuclearRevolution Feb 23, 2013

Somehow his is like my favorite poetry ever, and I don't understand a word of it. But I feel like at the same time I get what every feeling laced in the verses. Like reading some random language and persuading yourself that you pretty much know what it says.

You don't.

~ChloroformBoy Feb 24, 2013

ohai thank you

) it's probably hard to understand because ofhow specific it is

`LiliWrites Feb 18, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Hello!

I have used your beautiful deviation as part of my title poem project entry, found here: [link]

Have a great day!

~ChloroformBoy Feb 19, 2013

wow that is a rather impressive collage of titles :3

`LiliWrites Feb 7, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Congratulations!!!

~ChloroformBoy Feb 8, 2013

thank you for the suggestion <3

~J-Goth Feb 6, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

This is REALLY good.

~ChloroformBoy Feb 8, 2013

thanks <3

~LostInTheMorning Feb 5, 2013 Hobbyist General Artist

This gave me chiils. I love it.

~ChloroformBoy Feb 6, 2013

thanks <33

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the back of your head against my washed pillowcase

the back of your head against my washed pillowcaseby ~ChloroformBoy

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