Back when Marlboro
caged butterflies, and
pollen gave us cancer
monarchs came in
Citizens chawed and dipped
caterpillars (the problem
was acute in the South)
diurnally the wing dust
spread, leveraged nightly by
an auction of moon
I was a child, the crab
smitten child, when Tobacco
tricked the polymorphs
My dad, he gorged gaily
on their poisonous spines
Come fall, his lungs
23 Feb 10
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good grief this is lovely.
how refreshing, i love your words!
oh what more can i say?
wonderful writing, i'm captured.
Thank you, jenaka. That means a lot coming from you.
i'm a go kill
this is why i only
put marlboro ash
in my mustang
drink once every
red moon's rising.
sad story bound
to be retold by
without the spine
a most excellent surprise, Nic!
i am reading this poem over and over.
hm, only thing that catches my eye is the word 'you' in L3.
i don't feel this poem directed at anyone, so perhaps it should read 'him'?
Wow! This is FANTASTIC! There is nothing more to say!
This poem is heavy. Although it's nicely written, I had to read a few times to comprehend. (I'm a little slow today, switched to de-caf). BTW, thanks for learning me a new word..."Imago" which is a perfect title for this write. Good one.
Thanks for stopping by, Web. Here's a nice one for ya: Disambiguation. Darn word followed me around for a week! Lotsa luck with the decaf.
I do like this. I don't understand 'an auction of moon' what do you mean?
Good question, thank you. I'll start by saying this poem still needs some work? But that's what the site is for, how does it play outside our own consciousness? Phrase in L12: I liked the way it sounded, I liked the image, and in terms of telling the story in the poem: This is an odd little poem, that got its start with the idea of how absurd a tobacco habit is (processing something lethal for pleasure). So I came up with a sort of parody of that (processing butterflies for consumption). And in this parallel universe of the poem, I was experimenting with the idea that everything was negotiable as a commodity (lungs, planets). I was thinking about the lunacy (subtle moon reference) of tobacco, and visually auction to me implies a portion of the moon (waxes and wanes in value). Underscoring the whole deal is the idea of transformation (caterpillar to butterfly or moth) and how prolonged nictone use transforms our bodies. I think you could consider L12 "residue," a small perc afforded the poet?
This is one of my favourites of yours - 16 -19 blew me away. Great imagery, fantastic writing.
Thanks, Polly. I will look for your work.
They don't call them coffin nails for nothing.
I adore your poem.