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    poetry


    dots Submission Name: a stroke of the heartdots
    --------------------------------------------------------





    Author: jeniecel
    ASL Info:    28/f/philippines
    Elite Ratio:    3.22 - 313/373/169
    Words: 122
    Class/Type: Misc/Misc
    Total Views: 528
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 867



    Description:
       


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

    dotsa stroke of the heartdots
    -------------------------------------------




    every time I hear his voice,
    I have to ground
    on a stripped rock,
    clotted against its plea.
    I can almost see here,
    the patterns of his fingertips,
    pointing at the accusing moon.

    the flaccid changes,
    of refurnished hearts,
    parts of old lives,
    patched to his eyes.
    I waited half my life,

    for this.

    but nights cut between us,
    after us, even upon itself.
    after the glow, the narratives,
    comes a blank page,
    that could sing his songs.
    And might justify why,
    every time I hear his voice,

    every time,

    I have to ground
    on a stripped rock.
    And drown
    down,
    with my bleached skull.











    Submitted on 2012-10-15 01:39:50     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
    Submissions: [ Previous ] [ Next ]

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    ||| Comments |||
      This is like I love it more (than too much ice cream)
    I get a brain freeze because
    I just want to read it so fast over and over.

    every time I hear his voice,
    I have to ground
    on a stripped rock,
    clotted against its plea.
    I can almost see-hear,
    the patterns of his fingertips,
    pointing at the accusing moon.

    the flaccid changes
    of refurnished hearts
    parts of old lives,
    patched to his eyes.
    I waited half my life,

    for this.

    but night cuts between us,
    after us, even upon itself
    after the glow, the narratives
    comes a blank page,
    that could sing his songs.
    And might justify why,
    every time I hear his voice

    every time,

    I have to ground
    on a stripped rock.
    And drown
    down,
    with my bleached skull.

    | Posted on 2012-10-15 00:00:00 | by DaleP | [ Reply to This ]
      lines two through four lose me a bit as far as meaning, but they have a good sound.

    the entire piece is ground with feeling...and it would be a joy for whoever is the subject of this piece to read.

    "drown/ down/ with my bleached skull"

    i really like that image.

    jacob
    | Posted on 2012-10-15 00:00:00 | by jacoberin | [ Reply to This ]


    Think Feedback more than Compliments :: [ Guidelines ]

    1. Be honest.
    2. Try not to give only compliments.
    3. How did it make you feel?
    4. Why did it make you feel that way?
    5. Which parts?
    6. What distracted from the piece?
    7. What was unclear?
    8. What does it remind you of?
    9. How could it be improved?
    10. What would you have done differently?
    11. What was your interpretation of it?
    12. Does it feel original?



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