I haven't been dreaming recently
I tell you
I miss my dreams.
You look at me,
shiny eyed.
Perhaps you need to move on with your life?
Perhaps you're standing still?
I press my lips together
like I'm thinking it over
but what I'm thinking is Fuck you.
You look subdued
you tell me
and stroke me on the arm.
I turn away
and think about the skeletons
underneath our skin
as we pour vodka
into mouths that never stop grinning.
Black hole eyes.
If you peeled my skin off
I'd be smiling,
I say
and you laugh.
Later you tell me about a girl
with an imaginary phone
who visited your aquarium.
She talked to the England manager
while you showed her
that an octopus is as clever as a dog.
Your eyes shine
as you tell me
and I remember
You're not so bad.
How could you be?
When you've still got a bruise
from an octopus
on your wrist.
Before you go
your skeleton holds onto mine
and you tell me
All I wanted was a cuddle.
There are gaps where our bones don't meet
and it's cold
but we're both grinning
and we don't know how to stop.
Comments
Dendrite | February 21, 2008 - 11:10
I'm thinking this is a great poem because it maybe expresses ambivalence about love (?) need to read it a few more times. There is a real satisfying point here and using skeletons is compelling. Only my opinion, but the capitalized 'FUCK YOU' is hot, as in anger. If this is what you want, then it works, but kind of spikes out, I think these words are hard to use outside of dialect. Maybe this is closer, quieter?
but what I'm thinking is, fuck you
or
but what I'm thinking is, Fuck You
or
but what I'm thinking is...
fuck you
I wouldn't change anything based on opinion though. I read these in the morning until I'm satisfied with one, this iz it.
kim.rooney | February 21, 2008 - 12:11
I can be viciously cryptic with my own lines and my first thought with any poem is how to make it shorter, denser. I like ambiguity- the clues not leading anywhere obvious.
So I liked this so much I wanted to compress it, pack it down a bit.
If I could, I would remove:
With your life
For a minute
And I'd sack the England Manager talking to that girl and have you peeling off your skin.
But sometimes I don't know when to stop….
And it's not my poem and I wouldn't change the last stanza at all.
chelseyflood | February 21, 2008 - 18:25
Thanks for your comments Dendrite and Kim. I have taken a couple of things on board and compressed it a bit.
You both picked up on things that I had wondered about myself. I think it works better like this...