The title comes because my shoes are, if you were wondering about that. Yeah, I just wanted to make some sort of long story without characters about my first year at school Thanks for reading it.
Poetry / scuffed (Analysis)
into the brittle april wind
two fingers making peace,
choking a snuffed cigarette,
between ragged blue eyes and
torn socks, inseparable myths
about the slowly declining mitten state,
a woman putting out the candles in
delicate lansing, find myself
with uncomfortable suede shoes walking
down a gravel path where
empty cans of crushed
lite beer spilled themselves
into bushes before falling asleep
on park benches, small
chants of celebration erupt
behind an old brick house, girls
walk by wearing thin strips of skirt,
a beard with no mouth collecting
cans on the back of his bicycle, some boys
in shirts that neither mock or support his effort,
police car with taxi cab lights makes us
pause to consider the difference, everyone
just trying to find a place to sleep this off
anyways, scattered circumcised #2 pencils
an abandoned front desk at a country club, tests
gone untaken, bubbles
gone unbubbled, saw myself sitting
into a lecture hall writing poems
about my mother, the jaw clenching scream
of a fire alarm, jolting out of bed into
my scarred and stretched skin, watching waves
of untamed hair making left turns
down a back staircase, seeing
an english professor afraid of a flickering screen
smoke his pipe beside cowering aspach hall, two neon girls
with matching bags walking back
to the room they used to share, one curls up to her conditioner
and sleeps in the shower, an old letter from you
sealed with a lipstick kiss i found confusing,
it really has been that long
since my last-of-this-era
birthday, catastrophic furniture collapse
in the living room, steel skeleton of our couch
long since given out, threw it down
four flights of concrete stairs while it
lost metal teeth over every single step, kept
ourselves from uncomfortable boredom by running
in nylon shorts through the slush filled streets
until warm weather came and we
abdicated, finding solace in the ten second kisses
that girls would offer up
in bizarre self-sacrifice, then into the
dirt alley behind your house, where permanently
parked cars take communion, finding myself
with no please to walk back to
call a cab and sleep in a vinyl home.
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Deathsbuttercup reviewed Version 1 -
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Robsyn reviewed Version 1 -
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sweetness reviewed Version 1 -
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MichelleAusman reviewed Version 1 -
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I think the more I read the more I absolutely loved it! Really interesting and fresh sounding. Rapid read and gripping. Just, awesome. perfecto! :)
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wise2owls reviewed Version 1 -
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“Scuffed” seems random but each phrase seeks the next or one soon after to complete itself. A prime example,`find myself with uncomfortable suede shoes walking down a gravel path where empty`... Reading this reminds me of when you`re almost asleep and have many things running through your head disjointed but still making sence. It is a run-on sentence gone wild. This reader likes it. Thank you.
HKilpatrick reviewed Version 1 -
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‘sitting
into a lecture hall writing poems’ – is this meant to be sitting in a lecture hall writing poems?
Overall very impressive.
streamwalker2001 reviewed Version 1 -
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“police car with taxi cab lights makes us
pause to consider the difference” – i like this line
you’re right! it is hard to breathe
i usually enjoy streams-of-consciousness stuff (which this feels like to me) and this piece is no exception…
your words remind me of my youth in many ways – just some of your images…
you some some wonderful descriptive passages…
i really have no criticisms…
i like this piece… keep writing!
neawaia reviewed Version 1 -
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Your descriptions, like.-
chants of celebration erupt
behind an old brick house, girls
walk by wearing thin strips of skirt,
This is creative writing at its best! I love the way in which you have described things. Taking them from a plain view point to a poetic one!
Well done
goofygoober168 reviewed Version 1 -
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Love the stream of consciousness style—very fitting for the ‘story’ within.
I agree—changing the style would lose the feel of the piece. Probably wouldn’t be a hard sell to any online poetry/lit mag.
CharlesB reviewed Version 1 -
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I would like to see this seperated into some stansas with some minor punctuation editing… just to balance the flow of the poem. I found myself reading over some pretty great lines without notice, until afterwards when I reread it.
“empty cans of crushed
lite beer spilled themselves
into bushes before falling asleep
on park benches”
Excellent imagery and discriptions… I loved it. Keep it up good job.
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