I leave the traces all over
each surface in this winter air,
expanded high-ceilinged halls,
perfectly angled reflection.
I sit near (you) and almost choke
not because Iâ€™m sad or resentful -
just tired, and there is a dull
sobbing going on somewhere.
White hot cut of betrayal --
I could only twist up the soles
between the floor
and my own
| I sat here reading this several times. Betrayal causes a lot of anger and hurt, and its that only thing you focus on for a while. |
Let me start out by saying I like the tension you created with your word choice and the conciseness of this poem.
This is the only part that gave me a bit of pause... "I can only twist up the soles/between the floor" (souls?) I'm not sure this is adding anything the reader can grasp. It's an abrupt change of metaphor in a short write, or maybe its because the imagery from soles to head is too interrupted with line changes.
It left me not quite sure... I don't know that I'd change it or what I'd change in that last section maybe taking out "I could only" and start with Twisting. Just a thought.
Hope this is not a peek at your diary!
|| Posted on 2015-03-11 00:00:00 | by jaycee | [ Reply to This ] |