Dooring Haynds Laft, yet these Johks knew better.

Mawning at a nortren codge,
Breen loft a bit cawld,
waiting for her handss.
skirt hiked past knees, and bruises from
tables drunkrly stepped still in a hurry past
M.I.A.D. -- touched her breasts on the ground
Prally dem men coaxed tis luvuly gal into
sssllluuussshhhiiinnnggg halfabottleofgreygoose,
mindset mindset mindset -- a storied lesson
of how hands felt after touching another.

boring around in a neck that's not mine,
drilling to the depths just to see what i find,
never got the words that i wanted,
always a tongue tied in disregarding
so to see what she thought
i pryed off her skull and took her apart,
every little word that i had forgot was planted like
stakes in the back of her head. ,
'we're swimming in a lake.'
'i'll call you turtle burp.
'your accent is magical'
'wisconsin is so far'

lest to eat and be full,
i clamoured for food so as not
to starve, devoured what i had
and starved anyway,

our love was staggered across months of dry, miserable
loneliness and we would revisit it like an old pair of shoes.
often comfy,
often lazy, often dirt covered and full of holes, but not
until we wear them do we notice how uncomfortable
the soles are.

cut to two years later and two hundred dollars shorter
feeling two fingers deep into the dark of her thoughts
pushed further back, touching a ball of scar tissue where
she had buried all her pain, and regret, and remorse for me,
kept pushing on it but she didn't feel anything, no stab paings in
her stomach, no crushing fire prushed in her ovaries, so i
kept pushing it harder and harder, i wanted to tear it out,
or push it so deep in her that some sort of acid where melt it away,
like my love could melt all the tigers in the world to butter.
she didn't want that
i didn't want that,
stopped feeling,
stopped caring,
removed my hands
and washed them of everything I'd ever known about her,
a smell, a thought,
a memory I wrought
to kiss and tell to
fight and have fought.
I took so long to say out loud
that we would fade and fail, but after the fact
of honest admittance and erroneous love making
we hid our faces
and tucked our tails.
Last edited by Something_Vague at Nov 28, 2009,
Woah, that's...different. It's quite a lot to take in all at once, and I probably don't get it entirely. The first part is pretty confusing with all the stylized language and whatnot, and the transitions from part to part can feel a bit jarring. From the third section on, though, it really drew me in. I like how it feels like a stream of consciousness sort of thing, and to me it felt like something that would run through someone's head at night when they can't sleep. The ending I like especially, how the light-speed stream of thought seems to slow and fade into a steady acceptance. It's very moving. Overall, it's a very good piece as a whole, though the first couple sections were a little confusing to me, and some of the transitions didn't feel quite right. But maybe I just don't completely get it yet.
kill all humans
As a piece of poetry, I think the large internal monologue could disappear and the piece would be more effective. You kind of get all that feeling in the words already. But this is reminiscent of an exorcism, it feels, so forgeddaboudit if you so wish.

I think there's buts and pieces that could be tweaked a little, some rhymes are a little dull (and for some reason I really wanted to see "-making" on the end of "erroneous love", in fact I was almost expecting it from you. I think it could have really conveyed a stronger emotion and maybe a little less wishy-washy for the ending. I think you could have also used it and avoided any laughs from your audience as the piece itself was so strong.

And that first stanza, as fun as anything to read.

All in all impressive, but strip it down a bit and I think you've got a real piece. This feels like it is more for you; with an edit it could be for the audience too.

Have a good day.
Quote by Hendrix_fan_14
Is Joyce a bit of an influence on you?

I'll get to this later, tired.

Faulkner mostly, but I think Finnigan's Wake is one of the most brilliant pieces of abstract art ever constructed.
My only complaint is that the transition from the poem to the prose section is rather jarring. Everything flows and moves along nicely, then all of a sudden, WHACK there's this huge block of text. The smaller font size doesn't help either. It also feel out of place because you're basically just saying what the piece says, but in a non-poetic, blunt and obvious way. If it was just the poem, or just the prose, this would be amazing. As it is, the two together, doesnt work for me.
Yeah the transition from poetry to prose is what I stumbled over. There needs to be some tie-in, maybe with a repetitious word. So you could finish on a word and that word starts the prose? Just an idea. I also may suggest changing the title of the piece but it's all up to you.

Otherwise this was really good. I felt there were some stumbles in the last stanza but other than that the ideas and direction were great. This is a strong piece.