It's hard to hold every fall and fly all at once, with a
fist shattered through a half choked sky
and a smile ridden from ear to ear.
Tell me, How was a girl to know the difference between
spilt light stretched straight till morning
and and the shudder of a grave stone in an earthquake
the size of Moscow?
To be here
and everywhere sounds lonely enough to render me
with words whittled longingly to a point in which i can't
say your name without smiling.
Till your laughter is a stranger shooting a gun through
a room of silence still as ice.
Creaking forward till moonlight but i pull the curtain down,
Eyes watching peonies swallow a shimmer beckoning forward
to surrender, and the autumn leaves wrinkled with the touch of your hand.
And you laugh "Betcha none of those angels can fix this." you say
And i buckled, stone knees pulling the ground to it's skin
with my soul a drowning effigy washed with cold.
It’s easy to compliment the language in this piece although sometimes you risk alienating the reader with the abstract imagery. You could afford to be a little more concrete and uninteresting in places! Your writing is mature but erratic in its prosier places, and I don’t mean that as an insult; it feels like you could steady your writing a little, and let your language breathe.
You obviously read a lot of talented writers - your poetry is accomplished, and you will continue to be a breath of fresh air on this site. This poem I had to read a few times, and I get the feeling of confliction, and infatuation - the realisation that something is not healthy but pursued anyway.
An intriguing piece, and easily nominated.
10 months ago
Would have nominated if I wasn't beaten to it. This is stunning as is all your work.