gluttons

She's got a forked leather tongue that crumbles citadels like dry petals,

and I'd like to fill my car with your blood,

so that this cylindrical lead capsule might actualize itself through its intended purpose as a messenger,

to find a home to nest, in the shape of your heart.

Reviews

[wolfshrew]

I feel close relation to the bit of your work that I've read, it excites me and I look forward to reading more.

There is a bit of sweetness in the bitter parts of this writing that I really like.

Thanks to Serah and Marcie for leading me to you.

[M. Shepherd]

Oh my god what utter annihilation, I am thoroughly impressed by your deconstruction as poetry - a bullet broken down to basic elements and purpose and we have such a clear, strong image of what is to happen in a sort of cold calm sociopathic calculation.There's a kind of synechdoche - her defined by her tongue being all we need to know about her and the situation and your feelings about both. And the fierce brevity, you've encompassed such intensity in so few words. A roundhouse kick to the face, arsenic straight to my viscera at "crumbles citadels like dry petals" you've matched a kind of staccato consonance with a profoundly beautiful image I would want to paint if I could paint. The last line is pitch perfect, tying it all to a swift conclusion, the best and only conclusion to life, juxtaposing the warm, cozy thought of what you've anthropomorphized (the bullet) finding it's purpose in life and finding a home in its quest for someone's death. Brilliant stuff. Reminds me of Quentin Tarantino, in the way that he would have playing the song "Shout" during the scene in reservoir dogs where Mr. Blonde cuts off the cop's ear. There's got to be that union of opposing tonal elements to really twist your gut and drive that stake in deeper.
I gush, forgive me for gushing. There's so much here I could keep going.

[. serah .]

-- poetry which is full of so many surprises is a rare treat...