the materialist

he has us all colour-coded in
yellow-metal-ring binders
filed under last name and cashspending hobby

he catalogues his apolstery by pattern first, then hue

and the chuck of metal thrashing against metal is
the only poignant
sound



eveloped in his money and
timetables, he scours his memory-
for the last time he more than a vestige
of (sad) sensation

anyone...?

I think you mean "upholstery" instead of "apolstery."


If I were to use one word to describe this poem, it would be "creeeeeeeeeepy."

Perhaps this is a poem about a man whose life revolves merely around his materialistic posessions (and you do a good job of making his life sound very empty and depressing), but what I thought of was not clothes or such, but of a man who was catalouging his victims. It sounds very much like the stories of those molesters who keep binders of everyone they attack.

In any case, you need to do some grammar checking on this one. Besides "apolstery," "eveloped" is spelled wrong and the second to last line seems like it is missing a word. But, overall, I liked this poem. It conveys a lot without saying much, and you can get a lot from it. Plus, it's "creeeeeeeeeeepy."

oooo...I hadn't thought of it that way. Oh and thanks for the spell checking, I unfortunatly don't have one, and as everyone knows here I can't spell and type at the same time. I'll think on that last line...hmmm...

cheers CL