tip and tilt to the sun
By JupiterMoon
- 1129 reads
tip and tilt to the sun
we are a nation
of slanted, fat-eyed drunkards,
rocking time
on the night bus;
our grandiose Friday dreams,
lost like small change.
in the morning, none of us
will have changed anything.
still the sharp stiletto stab
of loneliness, unique to
waking alone.
memories,
strung across our livers
like washing left out in winter rain.
we are, a nation of saturated,
aimless hopes;
like ships wedged inside bottles,
we tip and tilt to the sun
once in a while,
for a moment;
before sinking without a trace.
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Comments
I think the vocabulary and
I think the vocabulary and the tone of this poem complement each other and give it a razor sharp edginess. I usually prefer a poem to be more observational than directly accusatory but in this case the accusation, 'We are...' works really well, particularly as the narrator includes him/herself.
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That Saturday/Sunday morning
That Saturday/Sunday morning feeling...
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'strung across our livers...'
'strung across our livers...' line is a belter. This is potent for its collectivity and gave me a powerful feeling of insignificance. It has done its job.
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