I am a tangled, tiring pile of blocks
stuck in the back of my throat,
waiting to tumble down my tongue,
skirling to the floor.
-
I am a delicate pile of paper, each
day stacked on top of the other,
resinous hours glossing over who
I was, am, will not be.
-
Layers of minutes weigh
down each exhale into the dirt,
matter out of place.
No second unaccounted for,
-
save for those I lost a winter ago,
when he took them from my tongue
and hid them under the sink.
The dust builds as fast as I sweep.
-
One step forward, two steps back,
Except there’s nothing to stand on,
Not anymore. Everything’s in it place,
all the matryoshka months and years.
-
All my lost teeth nestled inside
the last glimpse of home,
tied neatly in the bow of my first-
kiss, drink, smoke? Their separate heats
-
are braided together in my bones.
Suck out the marrow, it’s nothing
but bagpipe pitch and oaken
heft, papyrus and pine blood.
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Canary word: Present
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125,009 Literary Works • 672,837 Reviews
Wow, this is fantastic.
I'm not even quite sure where to start, I've read it over at least three times now, and every time more and more pops out at me. I am in awe at your talent as a writer. If I were to try and highlight every amazing bit to you, i would end up quoting the entire thing back at you, so I'm just going to point out a couple amazing pieces.
This poem has certain romantic aspects to it, whether in a positive or negative way. These verses appeal to me very much. they kind of imply that these seconds go unaccounted for because they were stolen, whether by time you lost out of distraction over this person, or because this person took the time without any regards for you.
This portion is very interesting. Taken together, it kind of implies that the aforementioned 'kiss, drink, smoke,' are worthless. They are filler, but empty filler. I'm not sure that made sense.. They are filler, but in the end they don't count for anything. But oh my gosh I love how you have it written.
Have you ever seen braided trim that is made using dozens of strands? They form a braid but there are so many smaller strands that twist and wrap to form the whole; that's how this poem would look if it were an object. It's a full story formed by so many little stories, the verse flows amazingly, the format is beautiful, the piece as a whole is executed magnificently.
The only negative thing I have to say is you have written "Everything’s in it place," and I'm pretty sure "it" should be "it's."
Astounding job,
Keep on writing! (please!!)
I just reviewed another one of your pieces and even after the first stanza of this one, I can tell you're an incredibly gifted writer. How long did this piece take you? It's well planned, eloquent, and evocative. I honestly feel like my writing abilities aren't sophisticated enough to be reviewing such a powerful poem but I will give it my best shot.
As mentioned before, your imagery and comparisons are spot on and effortlessly convey the picture you are trying to convey to the reader, However, I felt like there was just a bit too much happening in the end of the poem and some of it got convoluted along the way. I won't say it felt forced, because it didn't, but it was moderately distracting. From what I can gather, this was a fragile person in some kind of relationship (most likely romantic) and he took everything form her.This all but blew her over and drove them apart, causing her to pick up bad habits. I do think one of my favorite lines is the third to last line. Talking about something so sturdy like bone as though it's nothing at all because this person is just completely falling apart is a very solid image and the word choice here is something I wouldn't have thought of. I could gladly spend a good hour analyzing this poem for you and taking it apart line by line and looking at more than imagery. I am a little pressed for time right now to give this piece the attention it deserves but I hope my initial thoughts were helpful. This is the kind of piece I will need to read several times over (and will) to fully enjoy.
Thank you for sharing!