A green bird’s breast wing spun in sunlit foresee razed, where I hung from stray film reels. In my lyrical prayer, code free and dedicated a certain morbidezza, was the laminate cell reconstituting the chaplet, the signs, the…The bird’s song, a deboned alouette, curtsie, I cried. I am the extra, Three Men and a Baby, Ghost, and that obscure Arabian film “The Blind Owl..” Ron Jeremy in “Jaws”: moving picture waste; poetry’s germ of growth.
Aug 15, 2017
Waste
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?
Review Request Intensity: I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Editing Stage: Editing - rough draft
Comments
first this would be a poem if
first this would be a poem if it would be written in stanza format. The way it is now makes it very difficult to read
It is a
prose poem.
And not all fucking
poems have to be written in stanzas.