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.
in 16 I meant whore unfortunately. Maria's a writer. A friend. Her stories are intensely exhibitionist so "whore attentioned glories" is an odd (even obnoxious) compliment to her guts in being so open in her writings. She's a friend to me, so the obnoxious compliment was the writer me thinking that she'd prefer a strong sarcasm and relate to the fact that the annoyance of the mark was meant as a sort of loving gesture.
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.
Once upon a time, in Galveston, Texas, a cokehead friend of mine held me hostage in his Volvo. He was going to rehab in the morning because he had money & his dad was a cop & cokeheads from good families tend to do crazy things like go to rehab. He needed something to do for his last night, so we drove around town from about 1am to 7am, stopping every half hour or so to do a shot of tequila. I was one shitfaced Mexican.
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.
I love how, stanza-wise, it seems more structured at the top, then breaks up and is looser at the bottom.
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.
Oh good. Sometimes I wonder how much of what I get out of things is from the author and how much comes from my particular mood. Of course, that's what I love about poetry. It's a little "post-modern" in that way.
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More