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Man Who Fell To Earth.

It's your urgent shout
not mine,
I'm laid on a towel
engaged with sunshine,
you with cement,
weight of grout to bind.
Milk my kindness?
Jump wall?
Beat on stalled heart?
Bring back to life?
Don't think so.
It's your mess,
my time.
When vultures fly
I'll throw birdseed,
steer them in,
plant a sign.
Heard the proverbial
pin drop this Sunday;
no D.I.Y.
All stopped,
shut eye;
and yours,
torn from sockets,
swallowed whole,
picked as swift
as burglar picks
rich man's pocket,
I crow.
That quiet night
I lay,
staring at shadows
in starlit skies,
my eyes wide open.
And yours?
Shat straight back
into mine.

22 Apr 04

Rated 9 (5) by 1 users.
Active (1):
Inactive (1): 1, 9

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(719 more poems by this author)

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This is good.  I'm not too sure about all the line breaks, but we've gone back and forth about this before haven't we?  It's not that they don't make sense, it is just reading a little more choppy than I think it should.  At least all your lines don't start with a capital letter!  Whew!  :)

typo l39?

l10 - I miss the word 'the'.

l19 - You'd take the time to plant a sign, but not to help the guy out? jeez.

l20 - really like this and the next.

l31 - meaning?  you are the crow? You were talking about scavenger birds earlier, is this a continuation of that?

l39 - did you keep his eyes?  Boy, I almost hope I'm wrong.  Not that it wouldn't make for a good poem and a vivid image, but just, ummm....gross.

I can't wait to see your response.  Hopefully I didn't just butcher what you were trying to say!  
 — amy