water speech guilt cost wet --
passerby onsheets orsunken ships.
sorted stains to be thrown away
(consolations) for getting pissed on.
Lost in detergent, everything smells
clean or forgotten, everything smells
like sick, the salty taste of milk or copper
coins, that skunk linger of her blueberries
trapt between cotton fibers;
I think about sex and I just want to
Last edited by Something_Vague at Sep 12, 2010,
This feels clumsy compared to some of your other work. When people can't understand what you're talking about, you're either a great poet or a terrible one. I'm not very fond of this, but maybe I just don't appreciate great poetry. Whichever way you want to take that, I've read a lot better from you. Still, it's better than a lot else.
made for an aesthetically pleasing read, but something is lacking here. its dense thematically, but I find a lot of the themes are so protruding and unspecific that they stop you from getting too close to a truer meaning. I loved the last line though, admittedly. I feel like this could have been expanded, but I believe part of that denseness is your style.
It could probably be expanded but I don't have anymore to say on the subject of sex in relationship to cleanliness.

For some reason in my world sex is less a thing of beauty and an act of emotional resignation, and despair. It is awful smelling and it sticks to these sheets and it always lingers even after, and it will never leave even when rest is wanted.
interesting. regardless, it makes for a wealth of lyricism, if anything else.

perhaps it is only despairing in your pairing?
It's most likely the reason. I intend to explore it a bit more with some lengthier pieces, perhaps a novella. I want to write the anti-Lady Chatterly's Lover.
that would certainly be an intriguing one. I don't have the patience for novellas- I wish I could write books. poetry is sex to me; at times deeply gratifying depending on who its about, at times quick and meaningless, but there is always pleasure to be found in it. /laboured metaphor over

sex, like most things, is what you make it.
I'm finishing up my novel right now. Only a few chapters to go until it hits the desired 85,000 words.