I think this is the best thing I've written in a while, so prove me wrong. Leave a link after your critique and I'll get back to within the next 24 hours.



The Weather Of Fleshy Birds

Whether or not she can
remember the weather, she
can fall through felt curtains,
and stumble left or
stumble right. We watch the
window, welcome the change
widowed women like baby new year
sucks milk from our
tits. We're tonight, all
home and studied tight,
I've always had a place
in my hand for the horror
of a lonely night stand,
basking in the lust of another
occupied pillow and waiting for
the pressure to crush the

We're relating to a relaxing
touch, a timid time where good
people go to die. I've never
loved between a holly and a thistle,
the flowers that our hearts smell
to excitingly whistle. Instead she
lavishes the thought of bringing on
worm rot, to snatch my bones and
chalk them into skipping stones.

I've become a stadium's worth of
desire for water and warmth, but
the hope is lost when I begin to

I've never minded the worth of a
brilliant girl. "It's a long way
to the West Coast." She's carrying
her voice like a vase, a wash of
punctuation between the birds and
the bees of correspondence. We're
bound to the wood of a pillory, stuck
like wet flesh to hot leather. I started
school after she left for
a degree in high fashion. The last
time we spoke, I remember laughing
after she cried. I stroked
sinister words, she whispered through
chattering teeth, I was never
able to tell whether or
not it was the weather.
I just assumed the best.
You're right. This is the best you've written.

But you're becoming a hard writer to crit, because I always expect a certain level of greatness from you. You need to write some stinkers just for the sake of crits.
Poor advice.
Content was great and a little different from that in your previous few pieces. The tone was a refreshing change too; it felt honest and almost humble.

I like how, in all your writing, there's always something new to discover. And I often visit some of your pieces from months ago, because it's like I'm reading them for the first time, again.

I've got one thing I didn't like, though. The "drown" at the end of stanza two. It seemed as though you were going for the dramatic effect; it didn't come off too smoothly. You writing is usually dramatic through your word choice and metaphors and well, everything. So I didn't think you needed that particular line break.

I like the story. And how the whether/weather thing comes together towards the end.

Have you written any prose? Let me know if you have.

Two things to choose from my good sir.
I'd love your thoughts on the series, if you could.
Wow. I just...I have looked at this several times, attempting to critique it in-depth and I just can't do it. I really liked it, is pretty much all I can say. Some really great, fantastic images in this man. I particularly loved the line "the birds and the bees of correspondence," it has so many great connotations, and for each individual reader it would give off different memories. I love it man, and I'm relatively new so I haven't seen much of your stuff, but I like this a lot.
It's so refreshing that someone new read my work, and not the old grumpy regulars.

Thanks so much.