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justb — Eating the Sickness
Published: 2006-05-11 04:51:42 +0000 UTC; Views: 208; Favourites: 1; Downloads: 18
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Description
Decency footing, you're instant,and I'm travelling. No turnip, width
exact,
same the in praise, and not up scale.
Metric. Halo. Disregardence. Honesty.
The denying, and "one" may rise, but she,
accepting rain, silver like streams, hates me.
I am the tears. My chimney. My upon "T man:" time...
flows by climb, heard never thunder that!
(But I edge off) duty night, the of silence,
The calls. And I understand life
to listening and sadness.
My never winks at me. My
in glistening nodes, silly on sobriety
in the wake of drunkeness relaxing:
champagne moonlit lake is
timed illusion, and it mocks a [ , ]
witness to carpet shallow me
might is folded
In a tug to I seem gold
my pocket and, disillusioned
far from less than myself,
call my perched impossible
as eggs scale
my on land elephant
facts touch my high. So zoom and
embers touch my tongue with
their ears, ivory, such pristine past.
Ships my space, and infidelity!
Shall i pitch? Automatic.
Dirt And Shovel
my home slanted toward her center, struck and slashed
into myself, or, should a build her a pile from my gritty stained sand?
And seal my promise inside her invisible beaches.
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Comments: 12
I never read the original but never thought of appling mathematics to the scheme of the poem. This poem forms a strange blend of images for me. I can't truly define one from the other. When I get an image down pat, another quickly pushes that one aside. But for some strange reason, I was left on a beach building a sand castle admiring the ocean as the sun sets.
fav lines:
as eggs scale
my on land elephant
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so much energy-- each syllable building on the last in a rising crescendo of illogic/logic and un/reason... pure sugah cane bro!
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it's like you're conducting a grand symphony and the thing of music is we don't understand its' construction, or we are at least in awe of it, but we just accept it, its beauty, these words have that quality. and the lack of punctutation in the last big chunk invites/demands us to scan where ideas begin&end, where there should be linebreaks, and that's a lot of fun, and i think that's why you ask us to do it, this additional process in the interpretation of poetry. this is such a lazy comment, my star sign seems to think i try to do things justice, hah.
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Sacre bleu! (note: am too lazy to put the accents in this)
At first, this looks like pure premeditation. Starts off with some wording like they were maraca's, going chfff-chf-chfff-chfff-chf... But nay, you dinnae be up to plain ol' tricks now, are you.
Have you heard of Metosblat? I assume you have. I assume this because while I did almost get lost in that thunderstorm unleashing yer frictions as lightning, my cazy raven form grasped that almost wrote the thing in reverse, like you reversed engineered your car through the garage door. Wards backs draw (meer improph). Hmm... 17 up and 16 down from your pivotal lake of timed illusion apostrophe (17 if you include the gap before you really flip this on it's head). Ah, the apostrophe. I currently view it's position in it as like some kind of bookend upon which hangs the cosmic ju-jube monkeys. I'm going to have to decode this before I can give you a decent and truly critical. My decryptor got lost in the pyramid.
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i would have been a guitarist if I didn't have to fret all the time.
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The way first presented (in order of what is on the screen) is simply confusing for confusions sake, you are overly in love with hiding yourself in complexities I have never seen any use for. The poem, even as overful of comma's as it was, in the second form, was at the very least profound in its words, and to me I heard bass lines being plucked to a rather odd rythmn, 5, 3, 3, 5. I sometimes despair of you, and then, all at once, you give me shining hope yet.
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wow. I loved the second one. I was reading aloud before I even read that you should read it aloud and went back and saw that. It's great that way.
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