to Brad: Lytic

this if for you Brad (Incandescance), after reading someone's critique on one of your recent poems, I was inspired to write this for all the poetry of your people don't quite get. Not sure how good it is, but it was worth a try, right?

cheers
CL

----------

Lytic

your words skip across the edges
of the mind, like the sparkle of
glowtape in the flashlight

the crime scene is a mess
of bloody thoughts and torn vestiges
self purging themsleves of
existence

the flattery of black veuls and
long sleeves sober the rescue party
and still their cajoling jibes

yellow tape bars the girls
from picking at puss-scabs
yellowed from toxic exposure

mirrors and broken buckets of
water: red, from turning into wine
are the only spaces of time left

Comments & reviews · 6
Note: You are not logged in, but you can still leave a comment or review. Before it shows up, a moderator will need to approve your comment (this is only a safeguard against spambots). Leave your email if you would like to be notified when your message is approved.

User avatar
Incandescence
Review

Cal--


I remember reading this and thinking, "A testimony to confusion by more confusion!"

I love it! Of course, I'm biased, and yes, I am flattered easily.

Clear solution:

send a crow to China
to refine ear

of corn

-for-
Sam Byfield.


Thanks,
Brad

User avatar
Snoink
Review
Snoink wrote a review · Mon Nov 06, 2006 8:07 pm

xanthan gum wrote:people should stop writing about him. his ego is big enough already.


Hahaha... but this was in 2005, so he only gets a poem per year. :P

User avatar
xanthan gum
Comment

people should stop writing about him. his ego is big enough already.

User avatar
Dream Deep
Comment

Incan's a celebrity. ^_^

Nice job, Cal, I really liked it. Definitely worth a try, it was great.

User avatar
Snoink
Comment

"the flattery of black veuls and"

You mean "veils?"

Otherwise, I liked this! And ha... we love writing Incan some poems. XD



The bird that would soar above the level plain of tradition and prejudice must have strong wings. It is a sad spectacle to see the weaklings bruised, exhausted, fluttering back to earth.
— Kate Chopin, The Awakening