#1
song.


a winchester knife
held against the gorge in the sunset
all of oregon is spread
wide as our headlights

you turn to me
and say with absolute conviction
free is just a word for politicians
dream is just a word for british poets
but there are colors swirling deep in the darkness
we must reckon with
and when we emerge
we’ll be starving half to death
shivering and shaking
shimmering in the meaning we’re making

and we drive
to find
the secrets of a lonely country
fools gold glowing inside
the cavities in our bodies

rabbits in the truckbed
mosquitos lining our grill
we’ll reach olympia by morning
eyelids open through sheer force of will

and we drive
to find
the secrets of a lonely country
fools gold inside
glowing cavities in our bodies
#2
I like 'shivering and shaking, shimmering in the meaning we're making'. Nice one.
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#3
"eyelids open through sheer force of will" is like the sweet you don't like in a bag of haribo. Feels far too forced in. Square peg in round hole.

Conviction/politicians is the sort of rhyme I despise. It's just, there, lingering pretentiously, a faux-signpost for depth.

I think in song form you tend to struggle with the sonics more than in your poetry (especially your hippie-beat slam) and I've never thought you were God's Gift to rhyming. A little obvious, and a little unimaginative. Opening imagery was sound as a pound, and continued, however.