The carpet is ragged,
a broken-skin tone --
angry undertow,
just anticipating the weekend burn.
but his denim blanket kept under our bodies
(so the blood is easier rid of)
knows more than any floor color could.
Wings aren't enough to keep anything in the sky;
you find this out in dreams.
We stay under bridges, watch the moon
unhinge,
hit the highway in a suburban sunrise.
and we say its the most beautiful thing,
even though there's nothing to compare it to.
He plays games in colors--
turquoise-flavored untruths;
Water under the bridge,
and he blows through
mileage like
quarters in an arcade.
Author notes
Yeah.
I can't be the only troll who finds personal violations attractive.
A contest entry
- project poetry season one [first round] by blackday.
600 points, ended April 23, 2008, 20 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
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bravo...
This is as moving and descriptive as anything I have ever read.
That said, I'm not sold on the last verse. There's no need for it. I was slain by the sentence before it and thus it reigns counterproductive.
This line, in the context used, is simply sterling:
Wings aren't enough to keep anything in the sky; you find this out in dreams.
Standing OMG for you, Kj
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The moon unhinging was oh so very good. Overall, your style & language was perfectly set up.
The only thing was that I didn't like the whole colour-last stanza thing.
at first.
but your really stepped it up with your "water under the bridge" thing. The last lines are good, but eh. i think you could have used the mileage-quarter thing a bit more effectively.
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I like your style.
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oh nice.... I like this.... at first I was like "huh?" but then it all kinda formed together.... it was a good poem and I wish you luck in the contest! Meg <3
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