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The
Poetry Of Noah Champoux
All
I have
I'd wipe your tears, but all I have
is a dirty handkerchief, well,
besides this crumpled note,
an unhinged door into our
soul's landscapes, it explains
to you how I love the way you look
into my eyes and press your lips
into a smile just for me, an explosion
of love's secret schedules, how
instruments increase their questioning,
finding their own place in this
crowded world, the conflict to be most
prominent, how I've tripped
so many times, then how you gaze
into my eyes, like you don't want me to go,
and how I don't want to leave,
I'll place it in a plastic bottle,
when I buy you a drink,
hopefully legibility won't falter.
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Divorce
A whistle kidnaps thought,
attention's failing grip on actuality,
as a noose weaves around a pillar,
shoes lift into air, slightly above concrete,
rope snaps, sending shoes back down,
intellectual suicide dissects incomplete
ignorance, an emerald thread clasps bodies,
mint candlelight paints faces green,
lighthouse lightening, helicopter whirlwinds,
opening the gates into experimental existence.
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Unworn
Beginning with a birth, but ending in death,
a day becomes a distant tucked-away coat,
hanging in a dusty closet, as I place it on,
memories invade my bloodlines, entering
into my pale whiteness, flooded veins flow
through high, intoxicated levels of memory,
eyes focused on the first memory
to examine my clash with death,
though, only a taste of life, I flow
onto another day and escape coat
sleeves to begin entering
another otherworldly trance, turning on
my life, smoothly unfolding wrinkles on
this coat, I remember existence's memory
of all past, present, and future, entering
a vortex of birth and death,
but struggle to remove the coat,
like stopping a raging river's flow,
arms succumb to its rapid flow,
memories swirl in pockets on
sides, front, back, ins and outs of the coat,
weight increases, each memory
wraps around my neck to include death
in the equation, how I left, entering
wardrobes of unworn clothes, entering
equilibrium, I see an ending flow,
taking control of the river of death,
to completely immerse, I zip the zipper on
the front to the neck, a memory
of your own death comes to the coat,
everyone must wear this coat,
a rope around my neck was my entering,
imperfections are a mere memory,
omniscience becomes nature's flow,
its last memory comes on,
legs hanging, moving with wind, becoming death,
life became memory and a coat
gained through death, entering
the exit, the flow continues on.
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Shaken
Missing death certificates
strike on Mother's day,
a phone call is your present,
demanding unknown information,
suicidal organs devour themselves,
cutting to suck the blood inside,
to stain skin as natural camouflage,
to bring that familiar feeling
of a broken heart,
with the click clack of bone on bone,
shaking with throttles of engines.
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