life looks for space to place her feet

at the end of the day
god is in the light
tubes flickering
over a desk,
under bay windows that let a sinister moon through

lung meat collapse,
to rise like a pie in the oven
where silvia plath's head rests-
hair, blazing curls up smoke signals
our conversation follows.

microbacteria die,
sunbursting millions out of a breath
like stars,
they do not take well to the air,
like we do
we leave solar depressions in our wake,
dust lines under drawn window curtains
tally our mistakes until one of us
Last edited by #1 synth at Jan 14, 2012,
John Fante's alter ego once said, "writing is doing more than less." It's true in a way, but art contrived completely from art is like a silver plated antique.

Art inspired from raw experience is a pure silver antique dish; filled with raw silver. This is of your truth; you can feel it.

I like the "lung meat" part and it being followed by the rising in the oven thing conjures quite the psychedelic image in my mind.

I really wanted that line to read:

to let through a sinister moon

It reads so much more smoothly. I also disliked the attachment of freely. It's unnecessary for me.

lung meats - plural, sounds better to me.

I thought the ending was rather anti-climactic. I wanted some type of orgasm or something at the end... and you basically gave me a soft-let-down and some kind of explanation about "it doesn't work right, sometimes, if I drink too much, you know... whiskey." I guess the whole evening seemed like it was leading up to something special... and it just sort of ended on blink, when I wanted fireworks.

This was a solid read though. One of the better I've read from you... you're really coming into your style. For a while, when you switched up your style a bit (for some reason, some piece about snow in a parking lot comes to mind as the point when I noticed the style change happening... but that seems to be ages ago) and jumped into what I would call a "more frantic and broken" method of story-telling, things were rough. I couldn't find the heart in it... let alone piece together the ideas. Not all the pieces were bad, but I never felt like you were writing consistent, thorough, and "finished" pieces. Yet, with time, you've brought it back down... bending the style to your will instead of letting it pull the ideas you have too far apart to be anything more than fleeting lines and occasional great stanzas surrounded by barely connected and mediocre lines. It's great to see that type of growth... and even though I hated the switch because I loved your old style (it honestly inspired me quite a lot when I first started writing back in 07); I'm glad you've done it, because I can see in the last half-dozen pieces you've posted the benefits to your writing and the ethereal landscapes/person-scapes you can create.

Would appreciate thoughts on Mephisto found here: https://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showthread.php?t=1512255

EDIT: Haha! Found it. https://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showthread.php?t=997001&highlight=snow

If I search your name and the word snow there are 49 poems that pop up. You really love that image, eh?
Last edited by ZanasCross at Jan 16, 2012,