Poetry / Tesseract

“If the doors of perception were cleansed, every thing would appear to man as it is, infinite.”  —William Blake

The living room pulsed in cream shades
of lamp light, outline of tigers
cast across the walls.  The kitchen groaned
with appliance, a white noise of the fridge,
scurry of dishes piled in the sink, silver
hunger of knives.  She laid the blindfold
silk on the coffee table, ear buds
seeded in her glomed fist, waited seconds
until she felt the gathered cloud of pain
pills, Jack, and mushrooms—a cocktail
waiting for only the sweetest to endure.

She begged Urizen to stay, drag his compass
around her tangled head—weeks since
she had brushed it clean—but his needle shone
quick and hard at the end of her bony fingers,
drew welts between her hungry ribs.

She put it down, lifted to her widening eyes
that violet slip of cloth and tied it in the back,
pressed into her anxious ears the waxy plugs,
the watery isolation of heartbeat,
pump, blood rush, the wisping breath
leaking from her chest, whirling out.

Who is left when the dark is out—that howling
boy that slid unwelcome fingers up her legs,
peeled her skirt until she was too drunk,
or drugged, or beaten to say no, Mary
staring up from the bedroom wall, sluts
get what they deserve
, Christ shaking
loose from his two penny nail and falling
as if to say there are no more prayers left
in words that you still know, your slivered mouth
kiss only wooden feet, your eyes turned down

her Catholic mother screaming abortion,
her daughter’s body black and white as an x-ray?

Was she still here in her living room?  Watch her
slip behind herself, struggling to survive,
moaning to feel that horrid rip of void.
she unfolds blankets over legs,
thrashes and tries to tear stitch from fiber,  
closes each growling door of her body.  She keeps
the blindfold on, the ears plugged in— the needles,
knives, pills, the suffocating height of railroad bridges,
balconies, rooftops, the lonely shotgun kiss,
she says, are so pathetic with their kindnesses,
coax a body with the hunger of their dyings

all night she faces nothing, deafblind
to any world but her own, curls up
each corner of her folding body, the angle
of her chin, the degree of her breasts, hip, thighs,
feet, accelerates through her bones,
her blood, moving through the walls, rooftop,

traffic thrumming like a string.  She steps
Into the clouds, thin and torn,
the buildings fall into acute geometry,
voices spring like water from the pavement’s swell:

Keep me in your silence;
Light only comes to darkness.

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MARCH avatar General Stranger

June 23, 2007

MARCH

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MARCH reviewed Version 1 - Read 100%% of the Item

So did she get raped, had an abortion, and the killed her self. It was a little long for a poem. I dont judge of grammar, just the context. I thought it was okay. I had to read it twice to understand it.

mpotavin avatar General Stranger

April 26, 2007

mpotavin

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mpotavin reviewed Version 1 - Read 100%% of the Item

This is an exceptional piece of work. The imagery is quite beautifully written. I’m just wondering about the use and lack of use of capitalization. Do you have a purpose for this? Also, what is glomed, and I wouldn’t use fist, it sounds too angry violent. I particularly enjoy the distinction made between the sounds of modern life and the absence that she craves, which eventually leads to the final plunge through the noise once more into silence. Nicely done.

yang avatar General Stranger

April 24, 2007

yang

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yang reviewed Version 1 - Read 100%% of the Item

wow, this was well written in some parts, but i felt it was a little too descriptive in others. there are audiences out there whole will enjoy reading this, but i dont believe the majority will enjoy this particular dark piece. parts like “Was she still…rip of void.” but i felt that other spots like “thrashes…stitch from fiber,” were too descrptive.  im not saying it goes against rules of good poetry, but most people wont enjoying reading things that are that disturbing to the average person.  

tia_logic avatar General Stranger

April 17, 2007

tia_logic

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tia_logic reviewed Version 1 - Read 100%% of the Item

—shades/lamp light. Nice.

“The kitchen groaned
with appliance, a white noise of the fridge,
scurry of dishes piled in the sink, silver
hunger of knives.”—you start out solid w/appliance goaning. But when you continue on the descrition, you ruin that image. White noise is negligible, dishes scurry? Dishes sitting scurry? If they’re falling you need to say so. Hunger makes no noise, unless its stomach growling, which, I doubt,  is happening to these knives. You’re trying too hard there, you’re better w/o the bits after appliance.
“only the sweetest to endure.”—Ah. This doesn’t make any sense.
Also, is she in the kitchen? I’m lead to believe she is, but why is there a coffee table in there?

glomed—what?

“She begged … hungry ribs.” Like this until ‘hungry ribs’ – doesn’t work. You aren’t personifying her ribs.

“She put it down,” You don’t need this, it takes away. it’s narraration.
“lifted to her widening eyes
that violet slip of cloth”—awkward

“who is left when the dark is out”—I like this line until you answer yourself
“peeled her skirt until she was too…”—I’ve never been inebriated by someone trying to lift a skirt. I know what you’re trying to say, but you haven’t said it.

“drunk,... white as an x-ray?”
You went too far. this smacks of soap box. Catholic symbols can be powerful, and are beautiful in their way, but I kind of just felt like some catechism wafers were just rammed down my throat with an altar cloth.

Was she still here in her living room?  Watch her
slip behind herself, struggling to survive,
moaning to feel that horrid rip of void.
she unfolds blankets over legs,
thrashes and tries to tear stitch from fiber,  
closes each growling door of her body.  She keeps
the blindfold on, the ears plugged in— the needles,
knives, pills, the suffocating height of railroad bridges,
balconies, rooftops, the lonely shotgun kiss,
she says, are so pathetic with their kindnesses,
coax a body with the hunger of their dyings —

“all night she faces nothing, deafblind
to any world but her own,”—I like the image you set up here.

This whole stanza:
“the buildings fall into acute geometry,” How? This means nothing to me. Even if you just said so. Is it meant to be death? heaven? Dreams? What.

“Keep me in your silence;
Light only comes to darkness.”  This line does nothing for the piece.

You’ve got some potential to do something great with this, but you have be make sure you don’t lecture your reader or try too hard to describe what you are not saying. The reader gets tired, looses intrest, doesn’t care, whatever.

Keep it up. Love, love.

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dormetheus

Age: 29
Loc: Springfield, MO
Gen: M
Last Login: September 23
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