It feels good to be writing again. I've been into E.E. Cummings lately, and I think it shows. That and my post-modernist training, which I'm still coming to grips with. I love structure and syntax and twists and turns and strange words with double entendres and everything about language. Just love it. Believe it or not, this is a love poem. That's as much as I'll give away. I'd love to see commentary on it - of any sort - good, bad, or ugly. I'm interested in a, whether or not anyone's reading this other than my sister; and b, what you think...
(Non) SENSE
The smell of wanton sulfer -
his careless gentility -
an odor of undoing
and taste of starlit apple
he has a touch so malignantly
sagacious
(both alarming and familiar)
and still -
on the (almost
imperceivable) pauses
between comingandgoing
sober intoxication - and
inopportunity -
share between petals,
the thorns
3 comments:
sorta get it and sorta don't. Really love the last bit! You know I'm always reading.
it's neat, but i, like gini, sort of get it and sorta don't. i never did get poetry that easily, so take my comment with a grain of salt! keep it up.. i'm sure it's theraputic!
i never did get poetry that easily.. i guess i still think like a 3rd grader, so don't be offended that i also sort of get it and not get it. however, keep it up--i'm sure it's theraputic!
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