|in my room
Prozo the great,
with five thighs
and a Roman snout.
little women would murder him with their
snooty tongues and awkward glances
at his junk.
that's not to say, as to say; is said
that we are not of drugs
are we mr. dali?
who dreamt in paint and sculpted a cemetery
for all the dead statues of this 'verse.
dripped to dry on the groaning line of extraneous
thought. sent a message forewarning god of the
apocalypse...and brought to us the illusion
that was when? dear deirdre...
i have never loved you
and this all but a pastiche of my soul,
but do not eat it. it will burn your tongue.
pass the salt.
this coming thursday I will sit alone in my room,
prepared to write, let a breeze flow through the window.
in my room, where solitude feels like a curse. in it,
like virginia in the bathtub floating somewhere else.
24 Feb 08
Rated 10 (8.6) by 1 users.
Active (1): 10
Inactive (9): 1, 6, 7, 8, 8, 10, 10, 10, 10
(define the words in this poem)
(360 more poems by this author)
(2 users consider this poem a favorite)
Add A Comment:
nice compellingly even tone and interesting, tightly held to the chest. evocative in a tight-handed way -- "here's a word from the envelope". nice feeling for sound here, and an even, melodic, line... nice pairs of sounds: "prozo, five, thigh, snout" is like winding through a desert with trees. this kind of melodic phrasing all through this piece. it feels, as a body whole, like an absorption in a task, and then quickly looking up at us and giving a summation of what might have been the case, if the case were "really" that obvious -- which it probably was, but needn't really be summed, except that you're here, watching me write this poem -- this has that feeling of personal mystery. perhaps i'm just writing about what i like about literature itself, but this piece reminds me of that fine thing. very nice read.
wow, deo, i hadn't an idea this was yours. you're really surprising us with these different kind of writings -- it really feels like you're finding writing a very serious thing after all. nice work.
Yes, I take my work seriously.
This was a weird piece to write, you know just sitting there writing and then suddenly you wake up and you have a poem sort of winking at you. I was pretty conscious of the last lines though, even if they're just coming from me imagining Woolf drowning in the ocean.
Or maybe I was just trying to write to write smart yet imaginative....actually the writing felt like most of my writing feels like- under water in the bath listening to music and swishing about, sometimes coming up for air.
it's very stylish writing but in the best sense of showing the author's smarts and control over the reader and the material.
by the way, i sounded lamer with "serious" and i was just thinking of your first writings here, when you said you were sort of half in and half out of the game. this feels like writing.
good job, DeformedLion.
this is my fave of your works.
thinking about this, well, it's more about showing how language is used as a kind of musical device rather than writing a poem, or being a "poem".
"control over the reader and the material"- is pretty much spot on. Although, that's not to say this is an anatomical textbook showing you where all the pieces fit- its more about aesthetics than narrative. I guess.
thankyou joey and fractalcore.
this is quite lovely.
one of your best, in my opinion.
here's a 10 for saying junk. =-D
I must say "junk" is totally Juno inspired. Love that movie.
i don't think i know it.
like line 11 especially
I don't really know what to say other than wooh. (think owl)
yes, see how he's working sex.
my apologies, sir. i've made an ass of myself once again. you have a very fine house.
shapeshifter, seriously, you need to learn some new words. any comments on the poem then? or are you just here to pass wind. flatulent fuck head fucked.
had to have a laugh when re-visiting this; i did see Juno, and i loved it too.