Marc Noble

Three Poems


Marc N. Noble is a first gen Belizean-American teaching English in Chicago, IL. He enjoys a good comic, sci-fi, chai lattes, and watching his daughter dance around the casa to punk music.  

To me, being Latinx means saying fuck gender norms.

de libros y labios

       for Julie Ann Kalsow


Si pudiera llorar de miedo en una casa sola,
si pudiera sacarme los ojos y comérmelos,
lo haría por tu voz de naranjo enlutado
y por tu poesía que sale dando gritos.
                     -Pablo Neruda


We talk astronomy


That this heaven is filled with spiders.


My ghost perhaps (white vine)

in this machine.  Bleak sun for blind


We drink you.  This


Jeweled palate of coral


Snaked (t)wine that fills us.





It is tympanic daybreak

revived            to scatter

a lake now sky-

filled pillars.  To see each other

there silhouetted


against scaled earth which is fad-

ing.  Carillon faceless hewn

wild astral

fires that soon die

without a word.  My son that I

sent up


to that heaven on our back.




       3:22 am
                        My heart is gold.  What will you give me for it? - Tennessee Williams


         lie still, my dear

                      do not move
                      the constellations

                      (the further you 
                      look, the more

                      you see) connecting us
                      seeming to be undefined
                      bright as yellow-
                      bloosmin' in morning                      
                      sky "linger
                      for a moment"
                      stretching this heaven
                      all over and always

                      warmer, hotter  
                      temperatures of bodies
                      thermostat under tongues
                      thermometers rising  
                      the mercury of your hair
                      showing how our years separate out

                      the mortality of us
                      after another 
                      you are love
                      a talon of songs 
                      taut shoulders

                      that carry me off
                      on lines cerise, moxie 
                      an open box
                      to the sinewed red of it all
                      with me, slip
                      your hand over my wound

                      in your name i hear
                      something soft and quiet 
                      as a snapdragon's lower lip drinking 
                      promises of sunrises color 
                      the beginning of God's answer

                      to a shy prayer 
                      like the glitter of a bee's back
                      in respite we hush
                      the word beautiful

                      back down but it 
                      moves mandible,
                      tongue, teeth, pink palate between

                      stoplights we hope
                      to have another taste

                      of love

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