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a shred of... (2 of 3)
his forehead bulges, releasing
a stream of glop through the
popped breaking nose, making room
clenched eyes spew blooded tears, shut tight
against the invading paragraphs and notes
his fists slaves against the relentless shoving
none of the villagers step forward
to stop or hasten this madness
it is not finished yet
some do release a whimper, though
when his screeching chokes, lips clamp
closed while cheeks shiver and bulging
neck expands, shoulders swelling
and skin stretches taut
some children hide their eyes,
but mothers and fathers force their hands
they must watch all of this
his hips jerk to hold the heavy burden
but his anus does not, letting loose the
unneeded flesh and gristly gush
there is not much sacred scroll left now
all that was in him
all that he was
emptying and expunging
arms and legs packed lumpy and dense
when the last of the sheet with the freshest ink
is poked in by barrelish fingers and thumbs
he is ready to burst
full at last
no single breath is shared among the gathered
he rolls a swollen head forward again
a swaying ball of mass and hair
with loud creaks and pops impossible
he slowly opens unseeing eyes…
(to be continued)
Review Request (Intensity):
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Review Request (Direction):
What did you think of my title?
How was my language use?
What did you think of the rhythm or pattern or pacing?
How does this theme appeal to you?
How was the beginning/ending of the poem?
Is the internal logic consistent?
Editing stage:
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Comments
wesley snow
Wed, 2011-11-30 21:45
Shit.
Did you break this apart because you were concerned about posting something this large in one post? For what it's worth, I think you could risk putting it up together. Mostly I'm waiting for three. I do so love a story macabre.
wesley
W. H. Snow
A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds. Percy Bysshe Shelley
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weirdelf
Sat, 2011-12-03 05:39
feedback
when it's finished
cheers,
Jess
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