#1
A (setting and summary)
filmed over fluorescent city
blinking at a certain gravity
shaped water, aerodynamics
and especial reference to clouds.

heaving, coming through air after air,
and poisoned to a ph of four,
i massage my edges through a windy course.
the second i see is the hard growing,
energy pulsing, mineral-shaped,
bismuth-maladied city,
and i limp to slow my self.
veer and calm and zag;
a shantytown edging i plead to.
such a warm blessing i bleed from
and become lovely for the starving corpus;
i run sheep inhuman warpath
and close them. i drink it in.

B (placement and proximity)
rocks and vines wrapping
to sand and
band-aids swathing cigarette butts
pierced by syringes with needles –
a visceral mass of cheap production
and flaccid minds.

temples pulsing with liquid
i remember my way down
the green, darkened and drying
fingers and find the dirt
of which i am certain.
i drive through, impaled by grains of sand
and find the succubus roots of
grass and spill metatruths to mellow
my concomitant cellmates.
we play all intertwined in symphony,
all columbines and symmetry
and our masks fall like robes.

we let the hand.
we blink and strobe
and subsist to explode.
#3
Excellent word choice here. It's a good mix of common sense and slightly-awkward phrases, but not overly complicated to where it drives the piece.

It's a movie being shot in suburban Virginia, no name-town in the middle of autumn, wind blowing and we've got the whole crew - the setting sun, the leaf-blowers, the old man with the sports car, newspaper delivering BMX rider, and the serial killer across the street, insert: chaos. But it;s really not chaotic, it's simply how things go, and where things meet when they all want to be left alone.

drive through, impaled by grains of sand
and find the succubus roots of
grass and spill metatruths to mellow
my concomitant cellmates.
we play all intertwined in symphony,
all columbines and symmetry
and our masks fall like robes.


metatruths to mellow, inspired by grains of sand, I can see your hand moving across the page after you looked up, sitting on that terrace, or that beach, on the trail, there was nothing else in the world at that moment, and that it made it worth writing about. Oh, dear. I love it. Saying it aloud is like skydiving, before you hit the ground. Good job.