Dixie walks across my grave
in bare bone shoes
stilettos that leave imprints in the newly turned dirt
Dixie ran a ragged line across my face
felt for sure that i would coalesce into something more
something a little more, tangible.
Dixie grew to feel herself in time
found that she couldn't just unwind
with the passing of an hour, and the clinking of the ice within her glass
she melted to the concrete on the bar
danced with Stu, and tugged a panty line
she whipped with erotic frenzy, the lashes of her hair
bound him as tightly as she bound me
we, or should i say they, left in a hurry
to tug and pull in static fashion the lines of her legs
to part them, and ply them to submission
in the back of Stu's pickup truck
a moment in tense friction, their copulation
she trails lilies on my grave
across the headstone that murmurs in the evening
"Rest in peace" some peace this, where i watch
and she crosses bodily my grave
Dixie feels for me, sometimes, when she feels herself
she cannot forget the past undone, and will not want to
i am so sure of it, she leans towards madness when i am gone
but since I'm gone for good, she restrains herself in white, with chains.
Nyx...
Author notes
fiddling, haven't been in a writing mood this is what happens, can you tell? it rather stinks
Written August 19th, 2004
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Ah, ok, JD sent me over so I could meet Dixie. I like her ..a lot. Her feeling herself is so ..I just don't even know how to word it, really, but I think I know how she feels, really. Such an unfeeling experience, and yet she is real in those moments. I'll have to spend some more time with Dixie.
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I found this piece quite fascinating, as though Dixie were really representing a part of yourself. The part kept hidden, the dangerous side, that loves and yet doesn't not want to feel that love, nor show it in anyway. Toys and players, fill her game, but her soul is left with a gapping hole of what could have been should she only allow the strength, there but denied, shine out and be who it is she really is, instead of the rebel everyone expects her to be. Ah yes, I am rambling a bit here, but Dixie took one of my personalities on quite a trip here, a journey of self discovery, squashed by the fear of just being and having everyone else know. Excellent piece hun!
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Dixie seems kind of tragic to me. Fragile but a little reckless, I like that. The voice of the narrator intrigues me the most I think. I can’t place whether they are alive and dead, I guess that doesn’t matter as they seem to a little of both really not being an active part of Dixie’s life. Excellent imagery too….
an.d -
if i change it to that format, it changes the style of the poem entirely, since it then would not flow with how i'd written it throughout.
a good suggestion though. thank you.
N... -
you're spending a lot of points per click, so I'll try to make it worth it, not knowing how much of a crit you want....
I'm hearing something of the voice of Desiree Darkk here, though a bit softer. The bar and the ice in the glass and, well, she would probably not say copulation - that's too polite.
You have some good lines, lines that make me say "ooo," like:
felt for sure that i would coalesce into something more
something a little more, tangible.
and:
she whipped with erotic frenzy, the lashes of her hair
I enjoyed the theme of "lines." Wouldn't mind another reference near the end of the poem...after the second one, I was looking for it. The repetition of "tug" seemed intentional and was satisfying; another "pull" would make it even more so.
Not sure about the last stanza; if it were me (and I do realized it's not, lol) I might pare it down like this:
Dixie feels for me when she feels
she can't forget the past, and won't
i'm sure she leans to madness when i'm gone
but since I'm gone for good, she restrains herself in white, with chains.
That just gets rid of a few unnecessary words, tightening it up a bit. You'll find your own way to do it (if you want to.)
Anyhow, I very much like the flavour of the thing; I think you're on to something.
Edited on Aug 20, 5:23 p.m. because ''. -
A wonderful poem, I liked it a lot. The word Dixie reminded me of the south of the USA. A dark write in some ways, I liked it a lot
A well-worded and perfect poem, I loved it Great use of imagery, keep up the good work
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found that she couldn't just unwind
with the passing of an hour,
and the clinking of the ice within her glass
Those lines are just soooo good. I like these Dixie poems, for reasons that are my own and also for what they are and what they say. She seems like an enigma, this girl in your head that feels so Southern to me because of the name you gave her. Like someone torn between worlds with a bottle for a familiar. These poems are both bewitching and saddening. The way you seem to have taken on the role of an almost casual observer that longs to have Dixie for your own. This is excellent stuff.
Edited on Aug 19, 9:37 p.m. because 'Drink up, baby. Stay up all night'.
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