I am preparing for myself a feast of words,
a banquet of utterances,
caramelized letters left to simmer
which I will devour at the appointed hour.
My hand will lift the candied oaths
from long wax paper, unrolling like a tongue
to speak again in morse code
the saccharine phrases I let drop,
rebounding from my larynx to my lips
and playing themselves in staccato--
a stumbling rhythm upon my teeth,
composed in haste.
They will read themselves back to me
moving outwards in,
their pulp to determine
how much my heart outweighs the feather.
Author notes
This is by no means finished, because I'm not satisfied with it the way it is, and it just doesn't feel complete. However, I'm at least temporarily at a loss of how to expand it, which is why I desperately want all of your thoughts, critiques, and criticisms. The title will also change when I come up with a better one.
I promise to return all comments (especially the really meaty ones) with comments of my own.
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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Yes
You could make it richer, but I love it thus far, man
"and playing themselves in staccato-
a stumbling rhythm upon my teeth"
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Great start. You have a nice food mixed meatphor thing going. I can tell this is a creative first draft and a flow of ideas. If you put your clever wit and polish up your food metaphors you will have a piece of work that will have a rich poetic flow. I think it would be interesting enough to have a lot of people talking about it.
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"to determine how much my heart outweighs the feather"
An amazing image, as the poet sits at his ink stained desk, fingers and mind almost bleeding, awaiting the sometimes beguiling temptress of language to annoint his ears with meaningful phrases. If this be just a beginning, a quick sketch, then pen on my friend, because I await the final outcome at my own ink stained desk . . .
Marc
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