#1
recording: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-rTIK4Ssamo

blowing ghosts out of my hands
hair snippets spelling ciphers on the tile
listen to my chest expand
but I stop it pre-explosion, contract it
like a well-rehearsed response

oh poor barely human baby
starving for a shameful dick
in a shameful mouth
he’s heard it all his life from a shameful house,
holds his 20 years like a serpent in his fingers
stares at robins on his window
in boyish wonder
wants to shed skin and let the sun linger
on a purely naked body with purely naked heels
lifting up like an angel floating 90 miles
faster over dessert
flying out to space
lord lord strip this place from this place
give me the impossible
praying unintelligible
tossing in his sleep until he’s bleeding buckets full
of sweat while a step father sings sweet marjorine
to a drunken mirror in the bathroom down the hall

and he cant stand how he still breathes first-kiss memories
heavy musk of a summer lover sputtering “forever please”
but the market was too fast
and his hands were too slow
to stop the hardening of a cast
he’s accumulated in catholic overgrow

Jack slept most days till the trigger clicked
when I heard I cut my hair and let the sound of scissors hover

brother
I recognize the water cycles
in the eyes of the masses
new york city bones ache
brainwaves reverberate molasses
when I try to empathize
with the pity of the world
freedom flag unfurled
on a pole next to the library
we all end at the omega
and begin in sanctuary
but the in-between is marred
by promises of liberty
to front the suicides this year
killed because of their identity
and the shaved heads given
to stand in solidarity
and the slut walks shut down
and reparations for a disembodied slavery
and me
blowing ghosts out of my hands
hair snippets spelling ciphers on the tile
listen to my chest expand

but I stop it pre-explosion
taste the brink of godly fission
and wildly search the sky for signs
Last edited by #1 synth at Mar 30, 2012,
#3
if you dare to do that i'll come and find you. this is indescribable for me.
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


#4
I don't know how much you altered this already, but the roughness works incredibly well. I had not connected with your pieces this much in a long time. Great to read you once again.
#5
oh i don't know what to say but i love it, even if it isnt perfect.
i need to hear some sounds that recognize the pain in me, yeah.
#7
After "brother" I was with you. I thought it was good, bordering on great. Before 'brother' though... I could go with out.

I hope to come back and give you more of a comment, but I'd say the probability of finding time is to dedicate to really digging into this is small.
#9
Quote by #1 synth
recording: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-rTIK4Ssamo

Evening Skip. (fresh of following this along with your recording)

blowing ghosts out of my hands
hair snippets spelling ciphers on the tile
listen to my chest expand
but I stop it pre-explosion, contract it
like a well-rehearsed response
"well" is droppable. Shortening the last sentence reaffirms the contracted breath. The dash gives time for the reader/listener to breath and this shouldn't be the case.

oh poor barely human baby
starving for a shameful dick
in a shameful mouth
he’s heard it all his life from a shameful house,
"he's heard it" jumped out at me here. it might even be fixed by putting an "and" at the start.
holds his 20 years like a serpent in his fingers
you knew I would be seduced by the line break wordplay.
stares at robins on his window
in boyish wonder
Too faux-poetic, harsh in contrast with your less than postcard perfect rest. Cut it, or at least make it bleed.
wants to shed skin and let the sun linger
on a purely naked body with purely naked heels
lifting up like an angel floating 90 miles
faster over dessert
You said desert, you've typed dessert. Go back to school, Dyl.
flying out to space
lord lord strip this place from this place
give me the impossible
praying unintelligible
tossing in his sleep until he’s bleeding buckets full
Cute rhyme, constructed like a Woody Allen set piece.
of sweat while a step father sings sweet marjorine
to a drunken mirror in the bathroom down the hall
Didn't take to this last line, it's too much a stage direction than poetry.

and he cant stand how he still breathes first-kiss memories
heavy musk of a summer lover sputtering “forever please”
These two lines are your weakest here and can easily be thrown away. However, I love the next four, so maybe figure out a better segue than what you have. This is too angsty and juvenile. A phrase like "first-kiss" does not belong here, man.
but the market was too fast
and his hands were too slow
to stop the hardening of a cast
he’s accumulated in catholic overgrow

Jack slept most days till the trigger clicked
when I heard I cut my hair and let the sound of scissors hover
You're problem I feel in the above comments comes from this halfway point. Maybe key to this is throwing in the name Jack. Alienation is what I'm feeling. Always difficult to personalise while not losing your audience. I don't think these two lines are too crucial to the piece and if you throw these away I think your problem disappears.

brother
I recognize the water cycles
in the eyes of the masses
new york city bones ache
brainwaves reverberate molasses
when I try to empathize
with the pity of the world
freedom flag unfurled
Phoney.
on a pole next to the library
we all end at the omega
and begin in sanctuary
but the in-between is marred
by promises of liberty
to front the suicides this year
killed because of their identity
Phoney.
and the shaved heads given
to stand in solidarity
and the slut walks shut down
and reparations for a disembodied slavery
and me
blowing ghosts out of my hands
hair snippets spelling ciphers on the tile
listen to my chest expand

but I stop it pre-explosion
taste the brink of godly fission
and wildly search the sky for signs



Keep spending big, big spender.
#10
My appearance here is sparse now and will more than likely stay that way forever. So instead of full crits I'm going to start leaving small words of yays/nays/love/disdain:

You keep getting better. The imagery here cuts hard.
Poor advice.
#11
that ending rocked my socks. you're the man, dylan. this was very good. for the most part, your heavy rhyming leads you to great places and gives a lot content wise where it takes from some people.
It might be a more pointed piece if you cut up to brother or so, but I'm glad to have read it all.

I think I caught a blind pilot nod in the couplet that needs a little punctuation to keep the line before from running into it.
Anatomy Anatomy
Whale Blue Review

Park that car
Drop that phone
Sleep on the floor
Dream about me