morning air goddamn
birds arranged on a wire;
I wonder are they a system?
Sky splayed before me in scant
yellow and blue
We are all makers;
(make cool strange me and make love and poems)

Bathing in atmosphere naked like a Greek
loafers in the Maine woods
urge urging to share divinity
Love I think is numbers and systems
My own cosmic object, burgs and bergs
bigger almost than my head,

an aching rotten swell that
leaks through my corners
with wrinkled questions and
sideways glances
Today I feel electric grey
I hope tomorrow, neon black
"sideways glances" with a lack of punctuation is a really nice way to end the piece, I think, given its energy. The first stanza seems a little long, though - the pace doesn't really pick up until the second stanza. Could you find a way to say it with less words? Maybe rearrange it? (ex: put the yellow and blue sky with the fresh morning air; ex2: do the birds make a system? if so, could you cut them in with the other makers?)

just some thoughts. overall, I like this a lot. nice to see a piece from you.
Quote by Arthur Curry
it's official, vintage x metal is the saving grace of this board and/or the antichrist

e-married to
& alaskan_ninja

I really enjoyed this.

"Success is as dangerous as failure. Hope is as hollow as fear." - from Tao Te Ching

I agree that the first stanza could use some tidying up. "fresh"sticks out awkwardly to me as its own line and it's sort of implied in morning air. The parenthetical is all over the place, and I'm not sure you need any of it but the birds.

"loafers in the Maine woods" is a wonderful line that cuts through with an unique specificity here. At the same time, once you move into your internal processes this takes on something more characteristic than it does when you're setting scenes.
i'm not sure i enjoyed the first two stanzas. i sense a sort of attempt at writing something jumbled and faltering without tact and technique. not to say that this isn't an interesting read, for it is certainly that. but i am unconvinced at all times that you are completely in control of the writing. maybe that doens't really mean anything, and all of those are, to some extent or another, lacking control of our writing. what i mean is that, in this style of poetry, my favorite authors (who may not be yours and you may not even consider 'in this style') never fail to convince me that every word, image, phrase and punctuation mark is meticulously thought over. i wouldn't necessarily say that this feels scribbled out without thought, or that it's bullshit - it certainly isn't. but sometimes it feels awkward and still incubating.

that being said, the last stanza is quite good. the words and images definitely strike me. if you can bring up the entirety of the piece to the level of that last stanza, this would be something really special.

thanks for posting.