Weighting On Sir Real (It Was The Butler, In The Lounge, With A Broken Picture Frame)
Curling wicks of candles, caked in colored wax.
Count them to your lucky number;
13 eyelash strings, with one dust-deadened wish
scraped in saliva and finger oils on a window.
Your elbow to the sill, paw-prints present
from that internal beast in repose,
his cage lined out in stomach-skin folds.
A noose around a bottle neck.
Hoist up addictions and premonitions
on a fist-thick twine to skies.
Teach me like the string you taut.
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140,579 Literary Works • 673,526 Reviews
You have some wonderful imagery in here: every line makes a wonderful picture. It flows really well, and your line breaks and stanzas all worked well where they are. As a reader, I could tell this was well developed and thought out by you - a nice read. Some ideas to improve further, though:
"Hoist up addictions and premonitions
on a fist-thick twine to skies. "
'Fist-thick twine' is a bit of a tongue-twister. Similar sounds or alliteration are always good to read in poetry as long as the reader doesn't stumble.
Also, maybe I just don't read enough poetry, but I thought parts of this were kind of unclear. I wasn't completely sure of your purpose or intent at some parts, but others (like the final stanzas) really hit the goal. Just my opinion, but you may wish to clarify a few things near the beginning.