Letter to Publisher

This isn't the fire-breath of a dragon. It is a poem.

You carve me with characters,

ember-iron my character.

You twist-tie the ropes on my wrists, hitched

to the cover before and the cover

untold, my spine flapping with folds of

the lipids and lit, you shear up my jacket

to a trillion bits, you industrial shred it

and go-green dispose it.

 

I've never worn clothes, so I couldn't undress;

what's underneath wouldn't be nothing, but less.

I'll never climb shelves, and surely won't sell,

at least not in the way that the author intended.

 

I'm romantic, dramatic; you brand me as pulp,

I'll end up in bedding, the glowworms of pages

that pad the old mattress of a fan boy's first flat.

I'll help him to sleep, but he'll dream

something else, so alien, epic, and

different from me.

 

I'm so stifled and

sweaty, without

company here.

 

You blot me with numbers, they chant as they march,

you link all my structure with linear marks.

You hiss out my fate, and whisper my end,

and although I'm sure I don't know,

it magnetizes my hand, and I

reach for the iron and dip

at your command. I turn in the terror of

ending too soon.

 

My chest sears. I trace across it.

The danger trail flints and ignites your

conclusion.

And now I agree

that I ought to be banned.

Reviews

[Bluefire]

It had a nice rhythm to it, like a song or a rap.
I like the wording, you can really feel the emotion weaved into it.
It sounded like someone who was tired of being used or abused.
Well done. ^^

[Ghost of Jupiter]

When reading this I wonder how it would sound preformed? I can imagine it is quite brilliant spoken aloud, perhaps something that should be recorded and posted for all who frequent your writing? Anyway, this was again very well done, I love the way you spin each line... It just begs to be read over and over. I am quickly becoming a fan.

[AYVID N]

This poem touched me in ways I cannot express. One feels sad for the subject at the same time marvelling at the depth of the words and images that fill his cache.

"I've never worn clothes, so I couldn't undress;
what's underneath wouldn't be nothing, but less.
I'll never climb shelves, and surely won't sell,
at least not in the way that the author intended"

&

"I'm romantic, dramatic; you brand me as pulp,
ll end up in bedding, the glowworms of pages
that pad the old mattress of a fan boy's first flat.
I'll help him to sleep, but he'll dream
something else, so alien, epic, and
different from me."

This poem surely leaves it's mark and is the best I read all week.

[Rossen]

The artist lives and breathes in this torn and crumpled then straightened poem...
Metal and sweat forged emotion builds to a searing conclusion..well done.100/100






Rossen

[Matthew Bosko]

Great use of imagery all through out this. I like how you almost take us on this trip with an inanimate object and give it these very real characteristics. Really nice piece, one of the better I've read on here.