Delve into Forest, Descend to Fist

Animal hide,
stretched to seal
the void and stained
with cockroach inners and maroon
hues, is stitched through
with threads of rutted
branch. Delve, I dare say delve,
into the womb of this
arched forest. The walls are
made of corpses, matted
with loam and emaciated to
the point of disintegration.

Rope elopes with branch to
the north, and the to the
south, an arm dangles,
prosthetic and clenched.
Born in their fists are butterflies
wings fractured, legs
collapsed, the racy heart
skewered by shards
of its own wing. Burrowed
in its raw sides the
counterfeit fingers obliterate
all which remains.

You must descend into
a fist, choose not with ease,
for you can be bastardized
by kneeling knuckle and eroded
nail, in so many ways. Make haste-
lie in a palm, please
excuse the grime, and allow
walls of rubber to enclose around
your flimsy frame, and become a
butterfly victim.

And this is
all there is, so delve into
forest, descend to fist.

Appy, I love it! Although the repeptition of words like "delve" got a little bit...well...repetitive. S1 rocked! Good job!

apeva,


There's so much debris cluttering the way here I wonder what conclusion I reached upon finishing the poem up--ah! that's right, your poem told me what conclusion I should reach, instead of letting me get there all my own. That, I'm afraid, doesn't cut it.

What needs to be done here is significant fat-trimming (e.g., stretched to seal / the void and stained / with cockroach inners and maroon / hues, et al)--then reevaluate what you have and try again.


All the best,
Brad

Unfortunately the entire poem would not work with a few of the trimmings; it's surreal style, and that's not debris, they're illusions. It's supposed to create a picture in your mind, not explain itself. However, I really appreciate your critique and I will look into a few changes .