Willoughby Spits, take a second for that jaw
or Theresa to flood. A mason jar for every 1,000 teeth,
collecting them like painted wood. Settling in churned
groves, remember that morning at St. Joseph Montessori
where we cleaned the bathrooms, flushed the toilets full from
Saturday Mass. Prowling the hallways down like coiled
snakes, waiting for pale ankles,
breathing fresh air for the first time in five months.

In the windows there were gold clouds, they were
aspects of myself, and they were growing with distance
like in the basement of the church. The floors there
they were stained like drops of ugly glass, scrubbing
them in the night time, sweating pores
from a different task.

We made languages from the chemicals, moved
our mops to stone and tile 'till we coughed up our insides
on the bones or in the stove. In the closets, we hid there
waiting for the earth to fold, and we clenched our teeth
like biting molded leather, the pressure was impregnating
and our teeths were collected in empty jars lining
the Pastor Spit's gilded shelves, hanging
nor noose.
I like that you're writing about something that seems, like a rap, but also, something that stays true to religion and stuff; much like your other hymn piece I said reminded me of nature.

I like it because, it's like it's staying true to you even though I don't know who you are, the subject matter is, to me, kind of religious; like your other piece, and, I like it because to me you said

'write about what you know about'

and this is alright, though truth be told, this reads like a gangster rap.
I always feel like I should be lost or alienated by all the specificity within your pieces, and yet they always leave me intrigued. I often leave your pieces with a feeling, not of knowing the places and people you have spoken of, but of wanting to know them. If that makes sense. Your work breeds intrigue.
i think i can say i like this. but, well, i'm still uncertain about the thought and intention behind it. i must say, i love your phrasing and lines breaks, it swirls through the page and there's many things i can appreciate. i've always been interested in you. though i've felt unable to enjoy some of your latest pieces. would you mind telling us a bit about your poetic vision as of lately? or, maybe, i don't know. still, i think the important thing was that i could appreciate some of this. saludos, vato.
As far poetry goes, I don't think I have the skills to be called a poet or something who writes poetry. What I do are sketches essentially, sketches for ideas that I've had or are interested in further exploring in the future.

My thought process ends up jilted or fragmented in how I approach a topic, my mind jumps around from location to location or idea to idea, and I think it's interesting how thought works but not in a stream of consciousness sense. I like the concrete, or the complete. Stream of consciousness is unguided and raw, it allows you to go anywhere, and in that sense is too broad.

With that, I think what I want to achieve is to write how one perceives a dream after waking up. You get fragments of sharp details, "This guy, his hair was orange and he was holding three pencils." But after that it's just blurred emotions or vague feelings, a sense of something deeper that may or may not be there, but simply because that feeling was felt you move deeper into the thought that maybe you're not understanding the whole picture, and the whole picture hasn't presented itself.

I want to write poetry how one would dream.
Quote by Something_Vague

I want to write poetry how one would dream.

why though? dreaming is only one aspect of your existence, there are many more such as your relation with a 'concrete reality', your desires, your preoccupations. i think stream of consciousness is one of the best ways to write in. if one of art's main goal is to represent reality as one sees it, what better way to do so than to register your thoughts as they come (they come from everywhere)? still, like i said, i enjoyed this. i think maybe you should take into account more of your 'cotidianity', your everyday existence as a human being in your western society. that's where we are. and i'd like to know what that is about. what i get from this are vague ideas/dreams about certains topics, connected in an associative level. cool shit. and i said it's enjoyable, but i'm unsure as of your motivation. and where you are right now. what ya living? you live in the united states, one of the most desired places to live in according to my people in latin america. what's happening there? you talking about religious concepts in a fragmented way. do you try to be universal? i love you. let's not poetize. (why for? the poetic function is present in any act of communication anyway, says roman jakobson).

still, i think poetry is the mother of all arts. and should be followed, even blindly.