There’s a staccato rhythm hiding in the
paper-thin sanctuary of two rooms east.

We would typically refer to this as a convulsion
but here it could be a skid row love affair
or a suicide,
though I could never quite tell the difference.

Oh there’s little incentive to
soak the carpet in more blood
than it’s already obliged to swallow.
There’s little intrigue in
watching the flowers peel from
the mildewed wall - the harrowed wall,
stoic in commiserative silence
and drowned out by the

Just when the two step of love and death
is mere bars away from a deafening crescendo,
the beating drums cease
their tribal feeding
and I need something to
make this room dissolve or
perhaps disappear completely.

I choose the latter, stepping into
the lesser and subsequently
locking $8.95 and a venereal disease behind me,
noting muffled, guttural protests from 206
and an altogether novel tune from 209.

It’s a nostalgic kind of rain tonight,
the kind that reeks of bitter and joyous
death march ambles home from
places I can’t remember.

"Art is always and everywhere the secret confession, and at the same time the immortal movement of its time."

You did a very good job here with the improvisational-jazzy feel that this piece hints at, or rather, uses as an extended metaphor. I like how you recreated snippets of seamingly nostalgic moments and then you culminated those moments with "places I can’t remember." I thought that was brilliant. The second stanza was the highlight of this piece for me - your ideas were very vivid and haunting. I wasn't a fan of the "*******" in the third stanza. It was rather anticlimatic and it definitely ruined the flow of the piece. In terms of flow, the same thing can be said about "$8.95" in the fourth stanza. I didn't understand the references in "206" and "209".

Other than that, I liked this a lot. The whole "improvisational-jazzy" feel has been done numerous of times, yet, I still find this piece refereshing.
This was one of my favorites from you in recent memory. There was a very powerful voice resonating through this and as usual, your phrasing and diction contributed brilliantly to that. The tone was very haunting and eerie, perfectly set in what seems to be a seedy hotel. I also thought how the pace and tone of the piece sort of slowed down in the last stanza. I had this image of the narrator exiting the hotel and stepping into the rain, feeiling utterly sorrowful and dissatisfied. It was a great contrast from the somewhat confident feel of the rest of the poem. That vulnerability added a lot of depth to the piece. This was well written
here, My Dear, here it is
Subway summed this up pretty well, I have nothing more to add to this other than good jobs man, and my first ever bump for justice.
You take my place in the showdown, I observe with a pitiful eye. I'll humbly ask you forgiveness, a request well beyond you and I.
I needed to read it 4 times to get it. Not much to add, it's great.

@Bleed Away: 206 and 209 are apartment/hotel rooms.
Quote by Athabasca
My ex did the same. Cheated on me and then acted like I'd given her sister a facial. Women are retarded.
nice. I think a general thing to work on with your writing (if you choose to, of course) is to try and be more frugal with your words. sometimes this seems messy or a little forced - not enough to keep it from being enjoyable and getting your point across, but enough to notice. sometimes things are best conveyed in simplicity - complexity compacted gives us little room to exhale, and though I'm only reading your words, I'd like to see you breathe. we all like to know the author is alive.
Quote by Arthur Curry
it's official, vintage x metal is the saving grace of this board and/or the antichrist

e-married to
& alaskan_ninja