Honey Spill

(for Susan Lynn O.)

It only seems a dark lottery is fixed
Your numbers were a Helios calculus

beyond doubt. Your eyes filaments,
honeycomb butterflies pinned on a record

needle. Your night music got louder,
the beat jaundiced. Our suburban

noir morphed towards it’s assured end,
but don’t we all? No. Not like this. A ballet

of bonding shadow on white picket
points, we float! Two Rorschach blots

inside a canvas tear. Let the liquor have
its spirit. It only seems a dark lottery is fixed.

About This Poem

Review Request Direction: What did you think of my title?
How was my language use?
What did you think of the rhythm or pattern or pacing?
How does this theme appeal to you?
How was the beginning/ending of the poem?
Is the internal logic consistent?
[This option has been removed]

Review Request Intensity: I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back

Editing Stage: Not actively editing

About the Author

Region, Country: Albany NY, USA

Comments

yeh, tis fixed

just noticed another bleed into my eyeball, it's much too fucking slow for me.

You know what I find really scary? I know that I love your work, have made mistakes even thinking you were pretending to be you, but now
I don't know anything.
Except I like this and appreciate your talent.

Thanks

Jess! What's too slow for you, again?

health man

not been well.
find it particularly hard to keep up with your brilliant and active mind