#1
in the near-morning dark, no cars ever come;
though they would, if so compelled. you're waiting on a ride still,
dreaming like a mannequin in your bedroom window,
believing in all this talk of intoxicated elegance, all the gawking over
couture-level thursday night dresses, faces all done up in vagueness.
the streets are most beautiful and desolate seen through the falling of snow;
the lamplights are no longer icy above the warmth of love's secrets,
but so much of the focus is on the periphery, isn't it?
on the man you try not to notice, or on how many drinks he is ordering,
or on the ruminations of his christmas mornings, his mother's face.

it's neither too late nor too patronizing
to tell you i apologize, it just doesn't help any.

say grace at the dinner table;
save your prayers for the children you make out of honesty.
it's the beginning and end to our parents' dream,
stitched somewhere in the lining of the wintercoats we wore
before we first stepped out of the front door into white ideals
and made snowmen and women, and gave them the same last names.

it's never too late nor too patronizing
to make you the promise that honest days arrive
when you shovel the snow piled up on the passenger side,
and wander the neighborhood while the rest of us sleep.
until then sigh for the effort, defrost the windows,
follow all the exits, and find a way to the new england coast
(i hear the ocean there looks swimmable; here, it does not).

but then again i've done just that ever since i first met her,
and i'm still lost.
here, My Dear, here it is
Last edited by SubwayToVenus at Dec 7, 2011,
#2
These are the minor changes I'd make:
though they would, if so compelled. you're waiting on a ride,
--
believing all this talk of intoxicated elegance, all the gawking over
--
the streets are most beautifully desolate seen through falling snow;
--
on the man you won't notice, or on how many drinks he's ordering,
--
before we first stepped out the front door into white ideals
--
to make you the promise that honest days will arrive


And as for the last two lines, I can't figure out what the "that" is. The apology? The promise? The running to the coast? The wandering?


That being said, this was really good. Wonderful imagery; I was watching it play out like a movie in my head while reading and rereading. The third and fourth lines of the last stanza were especially wonderful. Evidence that you don't need fanciful words and metaphors to say something meaningful.
the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones that never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn


#3
winter sets such a perfect mood for this particular melancholy you've got going on in this piece. I'm fairly certain this is about infidelity, and if so, the choice to depict is so gracefully speaks volumes about the relationship itself. well-written, I don't have any real criticism.
art tumblr

If I'm not raw, I'm just a bit underdone.
#4
thank you both very much. i appreciate the kind words. and the "that" in the final two lines isn't referring to one thing in particular, but rather just all the advice that i'm giving this person, all the things that i'm suggesting she do. sorry that wasn't clear. and cobrevolution, there are some things i could make tighter. thanks.

svetlova, i'm a huge fan of your poetry so that means a lot coming from you. thanks.
here, My Dear, here it is