this poem is ok.

Longbridge, New Mexico

They sang vagabond hymns
in smokescreen hotels,
behind the dull glow of clock radios
and vending machines, they carved
illicit words like ancient art
in caverns made of drywall and tile

drip drip, underground rivers flow
sinuous currents leak across vinyl
like melodies played by violin
soaking sauce-stained paper plates
as bass tap-taps, it syncopates
through barbed wire wounds
and chain-link fence blues.

A preacher was knocked unconscious
by a barstool in a narrow street
the next day he heard the voices of demons
singing “free us from your skin”
It was consistent with his current infection
so he aligned himself with a cardinal direction,
and drove.

the same day a young man was killed
on Ninth and Hover, right across
from the old folk’s home.
They hopped from a rusted hatchback
and broke all of his bones
wielding garage-sale ephemera
umbrellas, baseball bats, CD racks,
lawn ornaments (shaped like tiny people)
samurai swords, plastic cactus-themed plants…
A shattered lava lamp was all that remained
with blood that fell in patterns
that could have been imagined
by any troubled painter.

I want to live in the desert
where nothing is ugly,
you are my looking-glass
but you do not love me
so tell me, Ms. Liberty
what am I supposed to see
when I shrug and look east?
what comes up comes out
Last edited by haunted_engines at Sep 18, 2009,
I like this. so good
Quote by icaneatcatfood
On second thought, **** tuning forks. You best be carrying around a grand piano that was tuned by an Italian
Truth: I haven't the time to elaborate on how I loved this, but knowing the deserts of New Mexico as well as the sandpaper surface of my heart, this is dead on to every road that is sometimes just too straight and too flat to continue down, the sagebrush existing only to pique the fading interest of the pavement.

The west is done, finished with, and when you look east, all there is to see is the lesser side of sky, wheatgrass and windfarms. Which is why I like the west.

I didn't like the way 'they' were introduced at the start, both times. It gives it a very particular reminiscent tone that you only get when phrasing 'they...' in that way, and I didn't like it when the rest of the piece didn't have the same tone (and I just didn't feel it was necessary). I also didn't feel the placement of the preacher and the booze was necessary. The poem is carried without reverting to those ideas.

I enjoyed the rest a lot.
There's only one thing we can do to thwart the plot of these albino shape-shifting lizard BITCHES!
This was good, but didn't really hit me until the latter half of the second-last verse.

I agree with DigUp mostly.