poetry critical

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i pretend you don't exist,
or that you were lost
on an arctic exploration,
not even a pair of binoculars
left behind.
i put my mind
to other things
like other people
and places remote,
though the industrial,
barren landscape has me
in its clockwork eye.
i'm getting better,
i don't think of you
every moment,
every other moment.
when i do
i only feel
exhausted and
and time
will gut us
like the plastic
dinosaur skeletons
in the AGO.
i pull my legless torso
by my arms
back into the decrepit crypt,
i'll leave you to rot
alone on the battlefield.

16 Nov 10

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this is preachy and i don't feel it: i just feel you wanting me to feel it, and then i feel you wanting me to be impressed with the artiness of it, and then with all the pathos in the final strophe.
 — NicMichaels