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    dots Submission Name: Cantodots

    Author: Angeles
    Elite Ratio:    3.87 - 5/13/19
    Words: 377
    Class/Type: Poetry/Passion
    Total Views: 980
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 2293


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


    I wandered home on a day so dead and dry,
    that swallowing hurt the back of my throat,
    in a daze watching people passing by
    like the charred leaves in a pond beginning to float.

    Fell that way for ages really, even tablets
    or buying last ditch energy drinks,
    could not save me. I begged you to save me
    in the floor of the empty shopping center, while everything started to shrink.

    Don't bring me home, or bring me home,
    I said, like an animal put to sleep. Too long too long
    The wind has wandered through the streets alone
    Unable to carry the merest jist of a song.

    And it was a sad and winding way to get home,
    And for the first time, really, in a while, I wasn't happy to be on my own.

    I wasn't though,
    because even on your own you can find people
    on video
    and I found this girl with dark hair,
    holding something in her hands,
    I think you know what she was doing...

    While she told her story
    I must have been sick because I wanted it to mean more
    she had this aura
    what's it called, something you would do but you have to shut the door?

    A whole cast of characters described in the darkness,
    breathless she was, amid the slap of saliva, gulping water
    in the park by the memorial, such stark
    railings would do nothing for her.

    Come down into the grass,
    and get dirt all over your knees, your yellow converse
    lying still while the trucks go past
    looking at each other as the clouds begin to disperse.

    You come through the blue light like morning,
    though I don't know what time of day it is,
    everything in this room is seeming like a warning
    construed in a way to stop the wind getting in

    But your dirty story got in
    and I don't know whoever owns the house
    even someone like me who's impressed with your sins
    could do with hearing the stories that come out of your mouth.

    Not in the same place though,
    and barely even related to the same person.

    Submitted on 2015-12-30 06:06:42     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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    ||| Comments |||
      I read this a while back and it felt very much like a love poem, but when I just read it now, I got a very different sense. A bit of a seedy, privacy going on, and maybe as a way of forgetting. There seems like there are two women in the poem. One subject and one object. And I'm impressed, if I'm reading right, with how much you were able to say by impression only. Without ever saying it.

    It feels like the speaker has been abandoned, perhaps because of his own inability to get his act together. Why is less clear, but also not important in the context of the poem. I like the way you have this atmosphere in your poems which shifts back and forth between something distant (historical) and something very modern or immediate. The detail of the energy drink was great. I don't think I've read that in a poem yet.

    I almost feel like there's some confusion happening in the mind of the speaker between reality and fantasy. I'm not really sure, but there's a definite duality that is compelling. And a bit crushing like a last straw has broken everything.

    Really thought this was excellent.
    | Posted on 2016-01-13 00:00:00 | by emwren | [ Reply to This ]

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