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Author: lukewarm
Elite Ratio:    6.38 - 621 /625 /173
Words: 120
Class/Type: Misc /Misc
Total Views: 1520
Average Vote:    No vote yet.
Bytes: 853


just this vague generalness.


Blow me
a lily
from the stem
of your neck
crossing at the corner of 1st and Avondale.

Brush off
these nickel-plated clouds
like my grandfather's army suit
on a Tuesday afternoon.

Fall with me
towards the club -
swing or jazz
forgetting itself for a moment,

Keep time
waiting just outside the door.

The sign on the window says
we're all doing well
we’re all doing well
we’re all doing well,

So sing that sick breeze
into my throat like
porch swings
hung from willow branches
and lay your hands
on this neatly pressed flannel.

I am a radio dial
playing nothing but tuna fish and aluminum.

Submitted on 2016-07-11 23:50:41     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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  Your vague generalness is sort of vague awesomeness. As in I am walking downtown in the evening and maybe I am a little tipsy, or maybe a little high, seeing things sideways, like the way you do when you're in such states, and it's clear yet distorted, and very slow, you know? Like slow enough to grab. Reach up and pinch those nickel-plated clouds. Feel their bulbous and impending shape; melt yourself into their desire to rain. And you're up for anything, you're suggestive, and maintaining only enough control not to end up somewhere naked wrapped in only a flag and sipping some unknown brew from a polystyrene cup.

So there it is. It's kind of like The William S. Burroughs spitting beatific nonsense in The Naked Lunch. Love that radio dial, flicking on and off the stations just long enough to catch a note or two.

Brilliant and cynical and understated.
| Posted on 2016-07-25 00:00:00 | by BlankSheet | [ Reply to This ]
  This sorta floats on like a daydream. I'm thinking of the Cheshire Cat. I can't think of a reason why that is, but there you are.
It's sorta aware of itself, as a poem, but in a "yeah, I know who I am, deal" kinda way. Not overly pretentious. In case you're worried that that's what I meant.

This comment is overly aware of itself.

That last line is pure Tom Robbins, and I love it.

Something minor:

Blow me
a glass lily
from the stem
of your neck
crossing at the corner of 1st and Avondale

I think something about the glassblowing image and the wine glass (?) image are conflicting. I think they can work in harmony, just not in this particular way. It's nearby, though.
| Posted on 2016-07-14 00:00:00 | by etheror | [ Reply to This ]
  This poem, for some odd reason, reminded me of the lyrics to I Can't Get No (Satisfaction).

When I'm watchin' my TV
And a man comes on and tells me
How white my shirts can be
But he can't be a man 'cause he doesn't smoke
The same cigarrettes as me.

I realize I'm way out in left field with this comparison...but that last line..."play nothing but tuna fish and aluminum" sounded like a play on consumerism (like some of the lines in ICGN(S).

Although, the beginning of the song doesn't speak to me the same way, It sounds like a tribute - to someone. Maybe to your grandfather or to someone of equal comparison and importance? In any case, it's different...the mood definitely takes a swing from beginning to end. Again, I'm sure that was your take the reader somewhere else.

Now, the "Fall with me towards the club..."...sexual tones? Nah...but maybe.

Many complex notes here...many. Kind of like a nice pinot noir...

Speaking of is that time...

Thanks for sharing,

| Posted on 2016-07-12 00:00:00 | by krs3332003 | [ Reply to This ]

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