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sunchurning vacillations

by Pompadour


it is dawn and you are afraid the sun will burn your city down. 

these days, your interventions are cyclic: you roam the house unperturbed, but when the postman raps at your window i can see it in your face, in your eyes, in the twitch of your lips as your gaze turns wild and gaping. there's a hole where the gossips' column should've been in the morning paper and i tell you it's not my fault your dog is so fond of bitingbacks and bitingtext and biting into everything but the fear that overwhelms you. 

because it's true: you are frightened, you are frightened, you are so so so afraid. and it is not the theatrical overcast of the clouds to blame, or the looming shadows of people you never knew that fall across your face, because the city is quiet and placid, the sky's dreamy eyes like cold, swirling milk.

who could ever blame the sky for anything? i ask you.

(you get a bucket, a mop and wipe the windows down with tar. just in case, you say. just in case. just in case.)


last night, there was a charade downtown, in that palace made from boxes and soda cans; there was shingle where my toes were supposed to be and gasoline inside my lungs and the fire-escapes were all clogged with matchsticks. i called the place my townhome, but now it is a mausoleum for things that burn in quiet redemption.

(do you remember, the first time we went there? i swore i saw sparks, but they weren't in the wiring. they were between you and me.)

and last night there was a charade and i was the circus and--you don't know this, you've never known, you'll never know--the ringmaster knew my name. when they spoke it was with your voice and i could've sworn it was you, except you were wrapped in stardust quilts and surrounded by comet walls, and i knew that if i passed by your house i'd see it dripping in black paint.

you always did stir trapezes with your lips, even when we were younger. you'd skydive from Mars without a net if i'd told you i'd catch you before you fell. 


for a long time, i have been the place where shadows meet people's feet, the place where things part and bind together. i am shades of grey. i am shades of miscellenia and microtropic wonderlands filled with mystery. you say you have lived in my shadow for too long, but the truth is that all my life i've been trying to outline yours in doves' wings. i soak your shadow in ink and wring it out until it looks like feathery black gold. it gets dark quickly, maybe because it's winter, i think, or maybe because i feel your shadow falling over me all the time. there is nothing at the end of the road when i open my eyes, though, and i have begun to think you have always been the dark: flighty, sly, and with no express purpose in mind but that of drowning me.

who could fear the darkness after a twilight that is so beautifully insane?

please tell me you are beautiful. please tell me you're not afraid.


but it is dawn and you dread the moment you will raise your hands to your lips, palms cupped, swallowing sundrops and dustlight. and you flutter your eyelids shut, drawing the blinds down, carving moths to your veins so they never learn how to fly.

the truth is that you are afraid because you know how much this moment means to me.

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858 Reviews

Points: 29821
Reviews: 858

Thu Nov 19, 2015 9:09 pm
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Morrigan wrote a review...

Hello, Pompiepoo~

This is a swirling tornado of thoughts and beautiful images. It's Everything all at once in one moment and it does illustrate the emotion nicely.

However, I don't really know what this is about.

I agree that poetry is art and not all art has to make sense, but it seems like you're getting at something here with the structure, and the only line you really let us understand is the very last one. It's like a journey through a huge maze for too small a prize. The prize is great, yeah, but give us some clues or we'll just take this little scrap and leave the rest of the poem. And you don't want us to forget this experience, right?

There are recurring themes, which help, but I suggest you add a little more concreteness to this whirlwind of circuses and skies. Like I said, it's all beautiful and great, but without function, it's something only rich folks would buy. If that makes sense. Give us a few clues as to whom that other person is. Who the "you" is. Maybe it's the reader and I'm not taking it literally enough, but I would like to think that it's someone who is closer to the speaker than I am. Why are they shutting down this moment? Are they a lover? Family? Friend? Give us some understanding so we as readers can get our heads fully into the poem in understanding rather than enjoying but not comprehending the rush of colors flowing by.

Also give me more about that dog and the gossip column. I feel like there was something more there that I really wanted more of. But I suppose that's up to you. That is a clue in the right direction (I think).

Altogether, I really really really enjoyed the imagery, but I wish that there was a clearer path to wander through this fantastic forest on. Hope that this review proves useful to you! Happy poeting!

Morrigan says...

Oh, something I forgot to mention. I think you should do away with the roman numerals because you don't really need them all that much. A stanza break would create the feeling that it really is all linked together, rather than a collection of scenes.

Pompadour says...

This is a tremendous help: you got at exactly the reason why I was getting a tetchy feeling about the poem. I'm not precisely sure what it means myself, but I have a general idea; I'll work on stringing the piece together.

thank you for this, mags<3

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19 Reviews

Points: 268
Reviews: 19

Wed Nov 18, 2015 5:56 pm
aspiringauthor45 wrote a review...

I love this poem, however, I would suggest putting it in a poem format rather than the format you are in currently. I dunno if you want to keep it, but personally I would change it. I do like how you break it into the different parts of i and ii.
In the first line I would say, "it is dawn are you are afraid the sun will burn your city down?" I dunno to me that makes more sense

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Points: 240
Reviews: 0

Wed Nov 18, 2015 5:17 pm
wishiwasloved says...

I like it please write more of this thanks

If you have to ask, "Is this cliche?", it probably is.
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