could not see it she blamed the
other for her contempt the weight
of her probing blustering alley
her self aggrandizement to blame the
other was easier than undoing the denial the river
of her banks swept with the detritus of her
self love loathing to admit she was wrong in
wronging another who loved her who
that was no way to spend christmas or the
fashionable cries of the so called left its
byre of burned out histories left over
mysteries of cry me a hope pray me utopic
glasses of the long dead song of a rough paid
glimpse into the past future and the empire's last glance
thus if the shivering came down for her future
was dead in the door down dead as dread its
the contrary to the leap forward in the present
hopping and skipping to the present and the
present its the opposite of the resent
being general she privated her thighs
and armied her cornware
these too the tales of the huckster
privateers by trade mark their word in the go down
hope and blustered sailor talk not the fuckwise word
and its intent wisecrack.
Now what was slang compared
to these and the rough wedding of its rift but a slave
to its knowing not the trap of the martyr's eyes nor the
sudden slave of the heaving waves nor the cutty bend
of the swarming water balked at the sleeves
these have been yours before and after
and the dark knows days have come their darkness the past rolling onward
the book and the insect
though she lived in denial she
could not see it blaming the other
for her conviction and the weight
of her probing
her self aggrandizement to blame the
bother easier than undoing the denial the river
of her banks swept the detritus of her
self love loath to admission she was wrong in
wronging her brother who loved her that
was no way to spend christmas or the
fashionable cries of the so called left its
byre of burned out mysteries left over
history cry me a hope utopia
its rose coloured glasses of the long dead song of a rough paid work
and a glimpse into the past future and the empire's last glance
she forgot she was oblivious she remembered the shadow on the wall
not the dark
thus if the shivering came down her future
was dead in the door down dead as dread its
the contrary to the leap forward in the present
hopping and skipping to the present and the
present its the opposite of the resent
being general she privated her thighs
and armied her cornware
these too the tales of the huckster
privateers by trade mark their word in the go down
hope and blustered sailor talk not the fuckwise word
and its intent wisecrack.
Now what was slang compared
to these and the rough wedding of its rift but a slave
to its knowing not the trap of the martyr's eyes nor the
sudden slave of the heaving waves nor the cutty bend
of the swarming water balked at the sleeves
these have been yours before and after
and the dark knows days have come their darkness the past rolling onward
the book and the insect
__________________________________
Me: I like repetition I like its drum its drone effect providing a full stop .
Her: It has its place for sure and oftentimes you do the unpredictable with it.
Me : Personally I find it a great strain to write these things that claim to be I bound. I don't like them or dont enjoy the process . to me they seem false in contrast to fiction....
If I take that piece of , taking the parts or pieces of it and start over inthe third personof the fictions it'll sound much better. That is to say, less ill. I don't better because better does not mean good or gooder.
