The other guy,
the other,
alone,
now with no
head or stone,
No weight,
but layers above,below,
and a thought to carry his taker,
through this world,
For know ,
none are really,
Alone.
I like the feel of this poem, how the lines are broken apart, and I like some of the imagery (hard-boiled man, brain closed his eyes). But, as for the formatting, why is it centered? Why are the lines broken into stanzas, and why make the stanzas where you did? Answering questions like those turn a good poem into a great poem. Also, there are a few moments of awkward language: "kin" is normally a default-plural noun, but here you use it as singular, so it sounds strange.
THIS IS THE STUFF THAT IS GOOD STUFF. Dang this is so legit.
"And every pensive kin gathered as sullen crows cawing softly in the hall" That line though. That is some Walt Whitman stuff right there. Amazing job man.
Your free verse tells a story. In some ways it reminds me of something Simon & Garfunkel might have done )Kathy's song) The very sad thing about this story is that it happens too often. I love the creativity of "and the way the cab bent did not comply with how is spine had been designed.." I could "hear" the hip crack.
We never know where the next turn takes us. Only God knows.
Very moving write Xavier. Wonderful Story. All these little pieces falling into place, these little scenes... iconic, routine, dependable... diner coffee, what is more dependable or ritual... so it shows this side of life... are mornings or noons, while in between time, where we have these 'everyday' exchanges... and we don't even know how valuable they are in their reliability... and then the heart doesn't squeeze... this other worldly event, to come shatter our dependable routine... opens us up, uncaringly, to crisis, loss, and deep change.... And yes... too mean to die! The other... maybe not mean enough! So a moral to the end for me.... Life is hard! And it takes a hard boiled man in moments to survive it.
Nice mind provoking Story. Powerful current of LIFE in it... even thought there is talk of death!
and every pensive kin
gathered as sullen crows
cawing softly in the hall
but i knew he was too mean to die
The poet describing a man faced the fate of tragic , sad, and helpless way of permanent sleep through a motor vehicle accident related to heart attack, and the complications, and then subsequent heart attack . The poet seems like saying both persons did not make it, realizing it was so sad and mean situation that he has to leave this stage especially in that particular way being toiled all these years, I believe in purgatory and heaven, do not want to think about hell, so we will meet him in heaven, fabulous writing, enjoyed it
"A poet's work is to name the unnameable, to point at frauds, to take sides, start arguments, shape the world, and stop it going to sleep."
-Salman Rushdie more..