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    poetry


    dots Submission Name: Screwdriver Nightsdots
    --------------------------------------------------------





    Author: saartha
    ASL Info:    27/F/US
    Elite Ratio:    4.06 - 230/384/131
    Words: 81
    Class/Type: Poetry/Misc
    Total Views: 597
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 597



    Description:
       


    Make the font bigger!! Double Spacing Back to recent posts.

    dotsScrewdriver Nightsdots
    -------------------------------------------


    Knuckle bones rattle secrets from a watery grave,
    echoing of miserable nights and cold catacombs.
    The crepuscular room smells of sweat and cigars--
    stagnant and devastatingly melancholy.

    He grasps the glass again and his throat wretches,
    inundated but somehow unnumbed by the bitter burn,
    brain screaming as though gouged with the namesake.

    A tiny tidal wave claims the finger-etched bartop.
    Like a shaman, he scries his future in the ice,
    skittering aimlessly across imitation wood
    before quietly melting away.




    Submitted on 2007-07-09 02:55:00     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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    ||| Comments |||
      i have to say wonderful imagery...i was completly able to picture this...a drunk being sucked in by his addiction...a picture perfect example of peoples weakness..and your words were so out of the ordinary...which is wonderful the description was perfect without being familar...purps
    | Posted on 2007-07-11 00:00:00 | by purplesun24 | [ Reply to This ]
      and the night melts away just like the ice on the bar until you look back [in one of those rare moments of clarity and sobriety] and wonder where all the days went to...

    i read this and i think of the song piano man by billy joel... sharing a drink they call lonliness but its better than drinking alone... i dont think the dude in this piece has worked that out right yet...

    the way you have constructed this piece and the language you use is so depressing... its like hes drinking himself to death though he may or may not be aware of the fact.
    and nothing is authentic... neither the depression nor the bartop... none of it is comforting just consuming and filling somehow...

    i like the second stanza with the burning through sensation... youve captured it well... especially after a drink or four...

    good work.
    i dont think ive seen a piece with such dark imagery used so well in the longest time
    | Posted on 2007-07-09 00:00:00 | by Someones Epiphany | [ Reply to This ]
      Screwdrivers! Yay! Vodka and Orange Juice!

    This is very interesting. You took the scene of a guy sitting and drinking at a bar and turned into a masterpiece of imagery, illusion, and simile. I could feel the pain in his brain from all the alcohol he had consumed. I could see him drawing in the dust OR condensation from his glass on the bar counter. I could see the bar as a tomb, men barely alive, slowly dying on the spirits in their glass. Hehe, spirits.

    I wonder why they call that drink a screwdriver. Maybe, if you drink enough of it, it feels like it is screwing into your brain.

    Wonderful write! BOING!
    | Posted on 2007-07-09 00:00:00 | by manwithnoname | [ Reply to This ]


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