#1
whimsical whims,
an ode to spontaneity.
he trades decks of remarks
for one drop of relief.
stray punches thrown
drunk on masculine masochism.
felt cut sports blazers, packs of Marlboro reds,
stubble ripe with Caulfield and Kerouac.
i kiss his hate.
clouds of self reassurance come
like half staged glances across liquor store floors
playing puppet to some small town burlesque.
the pan burn lining just metaphor.
well,
i guess we’ll grow up.
i guess we’ll fall in love.
i guess we’ll quit smoking.
but he’ll carry tense
aching of himself
in spontaneity.
Last edited by pixiesfanyo at Feb 6, 2008,
#2
This was dense, heavy wording.

The section after "well," came as light relief and introduced a little more flow. I'm undecided on how exactly i feel about this as a whole though, i know from reading your previous works you have some obvious skill in writing however and that shows here.

I may come back with some more comprehensive thoughts, but for now, this'll have to do.
#3
hey cool two MXers.

I like the piece, it's simple but not too simple.

stray punches thrown
drunk on masculine masochism.
felt cut sports blazers, packs of Marlboro reds,
stubble ripe with Caulfield and Kerouac.
i kiss his hate.
This bit rules.
"i'd give my soul to be where i was a year ago... if i had a soul left to give"