by Joe Sullivan
“Careful of the shells,” you
said. I wanted to taste
your white, and make
a table of your midriff.
Georgia's just a
place with
so little, but
an island nevertheless.
Sky's a thing we
seem to be, when the
light focuses on our
skulls.
“Devastatin',” she said,
“Jes, devastatin'.” She couldn't
help but repeating. A Russia
had fallen.
Your keel was broken
like a simple thought
in the jackhammered
pavement.
I channeled
your mother
and beat you
senseless, too.
2
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This is in April 2011 Poets/Artists.
Oooo, I love this. Cool, great, leave-me-with-wanting-more writing. Especially the last part. *
Good. I don't know...seems to stand alone for me.
Nice work. I loved it up to the end..because i couldn't quite make out the introduction of violence, the what for. Still lines like"Sky's a thing we
seem to be, when the
light focuses on our
skulls.
Beautiful original work.
Arrestingly incomplete, attractive, but ending bothers me too.
Cool. Very cool. Leaning perfectly sideways. Enjoyed reading this...both times.
Many beautiful lines here.
I, too, was a bit surprised by the violent ending, and wasn't sure what to make of it.
..Sky's a thing we
seem to be, when the
light focuses on our
skulls...this I found to be completely beautiful to behold, but the ending made me scratch my head. Why? What's the point of the celebration of violence?