Indeterminate gray pretends its fine distinctions.
The darker corners reveal their light
While the sun is a switch hitter.
No color, no alcoholic beverages allowed,
Just a gray wind that fades and was never around.
Compartments of material are stacked into the sky.
A trail of paper determines whose is whose,
But we own more than our keep.
Large house on a hill,
Bridge with only one side.
There are more windows than lights on.
There are movers instead of thinkers too.
Uncontrollable dream keeps laugh and morphing into abrupt sentences.
Discourse has fallen down without hitting the ground.
Lackawanna: farce
Statue of liberty: I never know the answer to these sorts of things.
Premonition of ankle-bitting in an upturned circle.
The helicopters fly themselves. I’m SURE.
My feet hold my mind and they are blindly searching this space, where ever it is.
Everything is bigger than me and you but a mouse.
Everywhere knows where is home but this space right here.
Sensitivity is faraway form competence,
Whoops.
My useless labor is mounting into a heap to be buried in the landfill.
I promise to decompose faster than plastic can.
No problem to disappear, as long as you don’t disturb your neighbors.
Water has the advantage of evaporation and
Air is already transparent.
The earth can keep quiet for years and
Fire doesn’t require an identity at all.
But we are washable stones turned over again in a seamless sea.
This unprecious gray determinacy.
Alex, I liked this piece. I really did, however, to be honest, a few things really bothered me, and that was when you decided to be a writer, rather than being a man.
Uncontrollable dream keeps laugh and morphing into abrupt sentences.
Like this, I don’t understand why you interrupt the flow by making it laugh instead of laughing. (Unless it’s a typo). (It just really bothers me, and distances me from the imagery that I was enjoying).
Also, you wrote: where ever, I think (can’t be sure of course) that that’s a typo (wherever). Incidentlly, in my last poem I made the same mistake, I wrote: where-ever.
Lastly, before you get really mad at me, I really didn’t like when you wrote: can (singular). This is just my personal grudge, but cans is so much more vivid of an image, and flows so much better I think.
I only make these comments, because I hope you’re looking to get honest feedback, and because this is otherwise an excellent piece – you managed to take me out of my own dreary room and share a part of yourself and your experience through it. (I wouldn’t offer criticism if I didn’t think it was worthwhile, please remember that).
of course i’m open to all criticism. in fact, i expect people to basically bite into me (virtually i guess).
i meant laughing and i meant whereever. yikes!
OH! and i’m a WOMAN. Alexis. so…do what you will with that. have you ever been to that park underground man? you live in nyc right? i dare you to go there so we can write comparative pieces.
i don’t get the ‘can’ comment because its used as a verb and not a noun (but i intentionally used that verb because it goes with the noun…).
thanks to for your comments (you too, as always gobbo)
alexis (the FEmale)
heh, sorry for the misunderstanding Alexis. (Hey, I was right after all).
Dare me, eh? Ok. I accept. I’ll hop on the next train and try to let one out of me – though, since it is forced, I doubt the poem will be any good, that is, if I manage to write one at all.
Here is my impression (though it is really an inadequate expression of my real impression). I guess, for now, it shall have to suffice. (Your poem over-shadowed my own impressions, I saw it all around me as I tried to find my own). Uncanny and interesting experience though.
needle points north
blue white red
Empire State-lit up
his Big Brothers, dead.
Alone on the Hudson Peer
Beseeched by black wooden stubs,
Dirty river teeth, Chilling wind
numbs my hands-alone
sitting at a solitary silver table,
4 story
parking lots abound, and
not a rat in sight.
P.S.
I’m really coming to love your poem, especially now that I was there – ugh! what a place… I’m gonna have to keep coming back there until it evokes something decent to come out of me. This one was written in a blazing cold, crazy wind, and an all-too consuming, literal, darkness.
i think its amazing that you went! and your work is great, i don’t know what you’re worried about. the park is kinda of a weird creepy place for numerous reasons. see, now i think we are really helping each other as writers.
at the expense of getting creepy: since you went to hudson river park, i’ll accept the same request from you to myself sometime. what i mean is, if you write some place in the shitty (i mean the city) and want a comparison piece, i’ll go there and do it.
this is increasing a deja vuness level in life maybe.
Sounds great. You’re giving me incentive to actually go make my indolent bum produce something. Something I’ll probably go wipe my indolent bum with, but thanks for your kind words just as well.
