Sta.sh
You see Maria,
you weren't forgotten,
how you mused drunk drivers
confused, stoned, blurred,
no point in focusing, for you
saw clarity in foggy windows.
It's weird, because you probably
don't remember it, but that time
when I kissed your ear while whispering
to you. You see, I thought I was kissing
you while your ears looked like your tongue.
At least that's what it looked like to me.
So I thought I was kissing you to death
but you said I was just standing there on the
couch, pretending that I was sitting and listening
to your stories; how in your whore attentioned
glories you pretty much knew it was a drive
thru a desert to your West Texas Avenue
I don't recall ever being so wasted in a set
extreme of words. You mused my lost oblivion
Ironed away my muttered forgotten times and memories.
You told me it wasn't important. Even made laugh
by acting like you really were turned on by me.
You pretty much knew you were a sunset garden,
your red smirk (but you'd say it was a skirt)
and red lips; with your cherry voice,
and sudden soft sarcastic statements in whisper
as to purr like a cat was what you were trying to say.
You tricked me into hearing something you didn't tell me.
You really were something.
And you are really still here.
Yeah.
You always were here.
| Deviant Login | Shop | Join deviantART for FREE  |
Take the Tour  |
The drunk me that was pretty clever at least. But the sober me unfortunately realizes the obtuse cryptic-ness or even incoherence of the message.
It's a silly poem that I like very much for some silly reason. I guess I like it because I can feel how I felt when I wrote it: blurred, smashed, incoherent, drunk, dead, spinning dying. This poem captured that moment for me.
There was an error in that other poem you critiqued. The poem you commented on where the intro reminded you of Bright Eyes.
I omitted a word. Darn I forgot where it was
Anyways, I like your comments which have a sort of off-balance groove to them. When I get back, if I make it back, from the east coast next week, I'll be in touch and will spend time with your writings.
thanks.
that's my input. so many lost moments that all add up to a whole person. are you whole? still breathing? still writing?
by the way - did you mean whole, or whore? ln 16; or st 3, ln 5
Anyhow, this reminds me of that. Even though I don't really remember that. I just remember the blurry-ness. The best part of inebriation.
Love,
Carly
(four joints, noise from a rehearsal, and who knows how many beers).
Thanks for hearing me back. Twas a nice surprise. The kind that have value.
Your reply even startled me. But, I'm sober at the moment. No fogged windows to hide behind.
tones
This might be coincidence but as far as reading and looking at it, it's pretty sweet.
I like how you break your lines when it feels right rather than at the end of any particular group of words, at a comma, or even at a period. I try to do that but sometimes I think it comes out all wrong. =\
"You really were something.
And you are really still here. "
I really love these lines, too.
"no point in focusing, for you
saw clarity in foggy windows."
I think the latter stood out not only because I love the clash of images, but also because I was sitting at the bar with a friend, and he was telling me all about how much he loved getting lasik surgery, and how when the first finish the surgery, the whole world is just a giant fog, like if you were sitting in a tiny room with ten people who were all smoking. That's what I envisioned.
I keep reading this over and over. I really really like it. It has a playfulness to it, even though the theme is sort of cruel. At the end, I just imagine you sort of laughing with Maria about the way she tricked you, because it doesn't really matter when you think about it.
You are spot on with it. It's "cruel in a playful way" you could say. Sort of like the antagonist is also the hero in the end.
"saw clarity in foggy windows."
This, too.
"You see, I thought I was kissing
you while your ears looked like your tongue."
What a weird line.
I agree with diamondie about the ending, which isn't near as good as the rest. Otherwise it's a good poem, your usual quirky romantic poetry that I like.