Your blood is a ride home.
I am polite for it.
back to Georgia, where peaches beat back
the dark like an apron at flames.
was it in the water? the sun?
Your two breasts like
the sound of oars without moonlight.
It is everywhere now, in our jets, our Tupperware,
our road trips, the doubt
in our plumbing at Christmastime—
The specter in the movie that if you rewind
and play back slowly you can spot
in the corner, inconspicuous
as a stood broom.
you and the barbed wire wary blood
as angles taken in by a finch.
You become mean with new glands,
and then i find you under your hair
like the woe of a handpump,
lessons at wells.
You are the second one i knew
before you are even old enough
for someone to be desperate along with you
to lie in your bed, both
in awe at such a near,
modern death, touching its phases, micro-gore.
A death at the mall, the retreat, the beach,
blood in the sand, the spot
lightning struck and turned
to a glass wand.
You identify with sanguine quotas, routines.
you become interested in
returning to old campuses.
This is what i've always dreamed of,
and you're living it,
tufting away like the heart of a watch.
You take yourself home,
to villas, waterfronts, straits along which
others have drowned, too, and with much more
to shake off besides—
to georgia, with the world's busiest airport
and peaches that burn the air
like a casting out.
Points:
Time spent:
Canary word: Present
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Original Text:
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125,018 Literary Works • 672,855 Reviews
I do believe this is one of the reasons I started following you in the first place. You have such cryptic stanzas that could leave readers guessing and interpreting for hours. Like perdido said, its right on the border of nonsense but at the same time is so obvious. The similes you use are beautiful and help us see and understand to a degree that's really just... I don't even know what to say. It's eloquent and beautiful, the way you write, and I honestly cannot find anything wrong with this. Again, I must comment on how raw it all feels. Your way with capitalization and punctuation is absolutely awe inspiring. Absolutely beautiful.
[this will be a review eventually]
I find this piece semi-impenetrable. It has the same cryptic flair that most of your work seems to have, everything coated in this enigmatic style that seems to border on nonsense. It makes me work hard to come up with an interpretation. The first stanza has a great comparison, peaches beating back darkness like an apron to flames. GREAT simile. Top notch. The next stanza is great too, the sound of oars without moonlight. To me, the ending was a pulled punch. You bring back Georgia, the world's busiest airport is a great detail, you bring back the peaches AND the flames, and then the last line is the pull. Need something better there. I can't help you with what it is, I just know there has to be something stronger.
The specter thing in the third stanza is great, but I felt like it disappeared. First I'm not sure what is everywhere, and then I'm taken in by this specter thing, and then I am distracted by the next thing. So I'm wary that this poem may just be a circuit of distraction, I'm forgetting what I'm supposed to carry through, that only the beginning and ends match with filler in between. I want more of that specter, i want to learn what it is that is haunting everything.
oh and I liked "glass wand."
best