werewords

it's unfinished, but in need of direction. Especially concerning part "iii".



werewords

i
I am God, in this pantheon of flesh.
With my wine red lips breaking bread like bones,
I'll kiss my Lazarus-- roll his threeday stone.

We gasped gospels, as I wage holy war
on ties and bows, on your button nose;

let us waltz on water and drown.

ii
Menstruation in this cyclic syntax:
a onceamonth method of bleeding out every child inside

that never came to fruition.
It only happens for the full moon--
I wear words, werewords,

in a sheepskin suit I fashioned after the likes of you.
I stretch my sinew and flash every tooth,
play the very part of a brute,

and say ‘I do, I do.’
But no! my dreams never really come true;
it's just the nightmares that remind me of you.

iii
His mouth was a hinge with creaked jaws open,
and I stooped to look around.
I was accosted by a fat pink tongue in a tootight skirt,
a maiden thing of 15 years (you could still see the thin white sickle
where she lost a sliver of herself to overanxious canines--the thought!)
who whispered thick, hot things to me with a smile.
I begged pardon and hurried on, afraid of her round corners
and dark alley thighs.

I saw the unapologetic--those streetlit gods--
who sang their tenor manifestos with deep throats
and naked teeth.

And it was raining. Fat, sticky drops shot
like so much sweat from loaded skies,
from angels' drizzling brows, wetted eyes;
but! every Uncle Tom Cavity was sitting on respective front porches,
drinking lemonade sweetened with brighter days, and
sighing penned pride to be king.

I dove down the throat, just then,
birthed out the other end--
Baptized in a Lake of Fire,
a lake of stews and chewed apples,
a frothing fryer.
And I saw bones with the curve of you:
the feline spine and laughing jaw,
in pieces and burnt like a Jew.

Ach, du.

So.

The first two parts are absolutely magnificent. I loved all the alliteration (sp?), and the religious-sexual mentions. This poem makes me really happy, even though it's like all dark and twisted and tormented. It's so awesome.

But I see what you mean about part III. It doesn't really fit in with the rest, like it feels kind of forced, if you know what I mean. I feel like it's just tagging along to an otherwise brilliant poem.

iii

[spoiler]His mouth was a hinge with creaked jaws open,

and I stooped to look around.[/spoiler]

I was accosted by a fat pink tongue in a too-tight skirt,

a maiden thing of 15 years (you could still see the thin white sickle

where she lost a sliver of herself to overanxious canines--the thought!)

who whispered thick, hot things to me with a smile.

I begged pardon and hurried on, afraid of her round corners

and dark alley thighs.



[s]I saw the unapologetic--those streetlit gods--

who sang their tenor manifestos with deep throats

and naked teeth.[/s]


And it was raining. Fat, sticky drops shot

like so much sweat from loaded skies,

from angels' drizzling brows, wetted eyes;

but! every Uncle Tom Cavity was sitting on respective front porches,

drinking lemonade sweetened with brighter days, and

sighing penned pride to be king.



I dove down the throat, just then,

birthed out the other end--

Baptized in a Lake of Fire,

[s]a lake of stews and chewed apples,[/s]
a frothing fryer.

And I saw bones with the curve of you:

the feline spine and laughing jaw,

in pieces and burnt like a Jew.



Ach, du.


*the strikeouts are the parts I would get rid of. They're the most forced. I can't tell you how to rewrite them because I can't replicate your unique voice.

--Medusa

thank you muchly for taking the time to respond to this. I'll be sure to keep your comments in mind during my next round of edits!