DISCLAIMER.
Do not expect this poem to pool in the impossible cup
of your hands. It should stream as sand
turned to mercury unless, of course, my intentions
run false -- which they often do, leaving the wrong impression
in a copper, hard-river residue that's limed up
many a rib cage. Neither think to know
what I'm up to; certainly the tomfools with their wild verse
and drunken, brambly walks and ripped jeans
know my purpose from the top of this hill of words.
I anticipate that they have stopped at the title to claim and claim
across the chasm, their voices barely reaching
us, here, siphoning through
on cliff-stairs, as water again
through close and nervous words.
Points:
Time spent:
Canary word: Present
Possible AI signals:
Original Text:
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125,020 Literary Works • 672,861 Reviews
Ohh, I haven't seen this one before.
I'm curious as to who 'us' is. You start out the poem with a definite 'you' (or my, in this case) yet by the end it's become a pair (or group?).
Perhaps expanding on who might be residing with you on hilltops above cliffstairs would add something here... and A reference at the end to your opening idea (and title) could tie this piece together quite nicely.