Those thoughts I penned
in navy night
the rotted pages
salt
lava-lead from armpit pockets
meant for stench
of secret faults
I told it all my vices
allowed my ugly to face front
locked my conscience, plainly folded
in the corner of the trunk
as, on the table, open-ended
insults bleeding wooden stains
the sirens that had silenced
spun again
and you were here,
curled like a fistful
lying backward at my spine
breathing
to the rhythm
of unspoken,
unforgivable rhyme
1 comment:
Man...this is more good stuff. Deep. Vivid. Uggh.
I'm in love with the last stanza...it is beautiful and serves a poignant contrast to the first two. It really hits home and sends the message.
I also love lines like your conscience in the trunk...the silenced sirens spun again...personifying "my ugly" etc, etc. It's just great.
I hesitate to be critical about a poem because it is so much about style...BUT, I think the punctuation in this poem is a little inconsistent and that tripped me up a bit. Part of that, though, is just MY style and I acknowledge that. I always say either fuck punctuation and capitalization completely or stick with it completely. You seem to kind of toe the line and that confused me at times
If it were me, I'd punctuate the poem as follows:
Those thoughts I penned in
navy night –
the rotted pages,
salt;
Lava-lead from armpit pockets
meant for stench
of secret faults.
I told it all my vices,
allowed my ugly to face front;
locked my conscience, plainly folded,
in the corner of the trunk;
as, on the table, open-ended
insults bleeding wooden stains,
the sirens that had silenced
spun again.
And you were here,
curled like a fistful
lying backward at my spine;
breathing
to the rhythm
of unspoken,
unforgivable rhyme.
But once again, great stuff!
Post a Comment