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Pinned by the prongs of a fork, tightly against a serving dish, while the crowd watches life drip by in a massive red attack upon the shiny porcelain that contrasts with my disemboweled soul. They ask why I do not move but instead choose to lay still, only breathing, for the remainder of my dismal existence. They never ask how the dying, who were once viewers themselves, continue to become the viewed; as they never learn from the sacrificial hues that continue to stain the establishment they so love. -jonathon shank |
Very nice. I very much enjoyed your diction. Furthermore, the format was effective in progressing and digressing in the appropriate areas, to draw emphasis to certain issues. I feel there could be a more "original" alternative to "soul" on the last line of the first stance. I've just read that word too many times in poor excuses for poems; your write is accomplished, and deserves more. Ok thanks for sharing. | Posted on 2007-03-08 00:00:00 | by SilverScent | [ Reply to This ] | |