#1
steve nash is 35 and is good at jumpers,
and i write poetry about him
while replaying silent movies of my first kiss-
and thank god there's no facebook picture up of it now,
because the snow hit and i still tasted lipgloss.

i've seen a lot of car wrecks on 2-17
when my mom was driving.
we never took the back roads because she likes to drive fast.
but now i live in boston

wonder.
like a kid outgrowing a snowglobe-
first the elbows hit,
then the spine folds,
and the spiderweb leaks mercury.
grasping glass,
standing upright naked,
cold shower of real air

wonder.
like a witch trial victim-
morbid fascination with the weight on my chest.
pebble by keystone piling
gleeful lung compressions-
while the eyes, no longer mine, fixate on a finch,
and can only wonder why the wind pushed it so far north
so early in the year
#2
Some stuff like the Steve Nash bit in the beginning seems like it could (and should) be tossed in favor of streamlining this a bit. It does a fair bit of meandering as it is... and I feel like the stuff that really isn't necessary bogs it down.

I also disliked the "but now I live in Boston" line. It doesn't seem to add any depth to the piece as I see it. Maybe it has some content which you think is necessary... but it doesn't change my read if I don't have it, and it reads so much smoother without.


Everything else was crisp and nice though. Good read apart from those few stumbles I had.
#3
I actually enjoyed the Boston line. The traffic is terrible, so no one can "drive fast". Your last stanza read wonderfully aloud--my lips feel like a tight bass drum pounding when they pass it over. Personally, I see the first stanza as lacking a strong correlation with the rest of the piece.
Quote by ottoavist

i suppose there's a chance
i'm just a litte too shallow to consider
that maybe i've been a little more eager
each day to wake up and take a shower
brush my teeth and smile for the mirror
#4
i like this piece of the random thoughts into it. i love the last stanza of a witch trail victim an experience of getting crushed with the weight. i could picture myself back in the purtain days in the 17th century proclaiming myself an heretic to the community an dying a slow death. not a very happy though tho. anyways enjoyed the creativity.