The name carries far
Beyond any claim,
No gravity to contain
This daybreak,
Or beauty each breath taken gives back.
The light on your skin,
An astral kiss in the dark histories
Of what might have been,
The place where exhausted worlds dream
Of going.
And that vanishing point, too,
Concealed like a weapon or gift,
Where life and little death happen
To the chosen who bring you there,
Where pleasure and pain merge
Like true believers,
Reckless in knowing.
Your heartbeat behind manic drumbeats
And electric strings
This awkward body cannot keep time to.
Your soul hidden by constellations I want to see
But dying stars I may already inhabit.
Your light forever trapped in the time and space
I have become.
There's not a lot to be said about this, except that the author of this poem teaches writing classes. Let's hope his students don't pay very much attention to his lectures. My friend is offering a prize for anyone who can make any sense of this poem, other than the thinly veiled reference to orgasm in the middle.
FYI, Tifanie, I don't think there's a single woman in the world who would want to be described as having abundant thighs. That's got to be a turn-off. Thanks for the excellent comment, let the bad poetry continue unabated!
Beyond any claim,
No gravity to contain
This daybreak,
Or beauty each breath taken gives back.
The light on your skin,
An astral kiss in the dark histories
Of what might have been,
The place where exhausted worlds dream
Of going.
And that vanishing point, too,
Concealed like a weapon or gift,
Where life and little death happen
To the chosen who bring you there,
Where pleasure and pain merge
Like true believers,
Reckless in knowing.
Your heartbeat behind manic drumbeats
And electric strings
This awkward body cannot keep time to.
Your soul hidden by constellations I want to see
But dying stars I may already inhabit.
Your light forever trapped in the time and space
I have become.
There's not a lot to be said about this, except that the author of this poem teaches writing classes. Let's hope his students don't pay very much attention to his lectures. My friend is offering a prize for anyone who can make any sense of this poem, other than the thinly veiled reference to orgasm in the middle.
FYI, Tifanie, I don't think there's a single woman in the world who would want to be described as having abundant thighs. That's got to be a turn-off. Thanks for the excellent comment, let the bad poetry continue unabated!
3 comments:
I have already spent too much time dissecting bad poetry in my life, but I’m here for your noble efforts. Carry on!
Indeed, Tifanie, that is the question: is he, or is he not, a scientifically challenged rhythmless paraplegic stuck in a quasar? That is what his poem seems to indicate . . . that that is or is not what he is, to put it as simply as possible.
He didn't offer us a lot to work with as far as simplicity is concerned, and that's a fact. Your literary acumen is, as always, both penetrating and filled with disdain. I love you more with each passing day.
And thank you for dropping by, Miss Mary! Your presence always brings an otherwise lacking charm and grace to my little website.
Great work.
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