my arm

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jot it down, please
take the cadillac for a spin and
crawl on the floor take the key and
turn it
ignite the polyglot babies living in the shafts
of the detroit tunnels

they scream and wail they
barter and trade they
wait for the bolsheviks climbing over the upholstery
with their tribal spears and nose rings they
reek of smoke and pork
and cafeteria sporks they
know how to read the signals
the indentations in your palm
they know (softly, with sweat)

did you get all that down? i said get all that down? i said get all that down? i said
no more water i'll tell
of korean jungle exploits
interrogate the infants
pacify their teeth and free will (there's a justice for you to follow on the TV, something to shout for on the picket line, gather the markers and stones) - pacify
their alcohol levels - pacify
their strength, can't turn the wheel can't
steer (tell your girlfriend to shut up)

the cadillac
can no longer steer it
it goes
into
the river

so there - know now that the ocean
isn't as much a jukebox as you think of it know
a 45 spins faster than a bullet just
know that water
divides and
the fish are happy swimming
without you
with out you
This is a chance to dance our way out of our constrictions.




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Oh, nice! ^_^

Just a couple of things:

the cadillac

can no longer steer it

it goes

into

the river


The styling seems a bit too typical here. I like the reeling sensation of the rest of the poem where it feels like you're being dragged along in a whirlwind of words, but the lines here seem to be broken up in a rather cliched way that I expected.

a 45 spins faster than a bullet just

know that water


This may be me being a science geek, but I don't like how you placed bullets with water, just because bullets can't actually pierce water, so it seems like you're putting two odd things together. Basically, it's not working for me here.

without you

with out you


I didn't like the repetition because it felt too much like you were driving home a point. I would just stick with the second line, since that would subtly say what you mean. And subtle is good here.

On the whole, however, a very nice poem! *stars*
Ubi caritas est vera, Deus ibi est.

"The mark of your ignorance is the depth of your belief in injustice and tragedy. What the caterpillar calls the end of the world, the Master calls the butterfly." ~ Richard Bach

Moth and Myth <- My comic! :D




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Great poem! Although, I would add some punctuation, and capitalize the first letter in each line.
"We played Pin the Tail on the Reason My Life Feels So Insufficient, and nobody won." -Megan Moriarty




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:D

I would change a couple of things.

First of all, your rhythm is very inconsistent, so it seems. The line breaks are what does it, I'm pretty sure. It interrupts the fluency and rhythm of the poem.

Second, you have no punctuation. In some poetry, punctuation is not needed, but it is important in this one, for, like I said, the line breaks are questionable, and it would help us understand where you are coming from (in line breaks) if you were to add some punctuation.

Thirdly and lastly, capitalization. Imapoemperson stated;

Great poem! Although, I would add some punctuation, and capitalize the first letter in each line.


You do not need to capitalize every single line for a) it gets tiring b) it isn't needed. If you were to line each of these stanzas into one giant sentence, then you would think about it much differently, right? Well, you do not capitalize unless it is the end of a thought/ subject/ period. I would capitalize some things though, once you add in that wonderful and oh- so- handy punctuation.

Other than those things, nice work! Try to work on that rhythm.

PM me if you need anything 8)
Have a peanut =)

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Proud LGBT supporter.




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the reason i didn't capitalize anything - save for "TV," which is always capitalized, no matter when - is because i'm trying to make a commentary on laziness in regards to technology and internet culture. if you know anything about anything, you'll see how that theme clearly at least attempts to pierce this poem. this poem is meant to be typed, not written.
This is a chance to dance our way out of our constrictions.



Every first draft is perfect, because all a first draft has to do is exist.
— Jane Smiley