Young Writers Society

will dirty hands pretend nothing had happened?
under whose banner shall i manifest?
by what way shall i decide
the atavistic question,
who revels in scorched grass
and sledgehammers,
hopeless?
what forms, what cynicism
if i should smell you stale seat and cologne
in rath morning, fraternal love drained?
do you stand as well afore luna,
nude, obscured, in uterine flight,
having forgotten how to pray
through the milky occlusion?
by what cause, what cause
will i disown youth’s blushes,
brown room upon brown room,
hoodwinked to godhead?
how, here, in the next-grandest land of this
toxic speck, indistinct by touch, no brighter than any sun,
with mendicant’s chant “and whom do we fear?
to whom do we recant?
to whom do we return?”
shall i conceal?

i can't figure out this formatting biz, so just imagine white spaces.

Oookay...well...my personal reaction was overwhelmingly "Huh?!". It just seems like a random collection of words and images to me. You have a nice rhythm and I like your style, but there's such a thing as being too obscure, you know? Maybe you could edit it so that it represents something more concrete. But that could just be me.