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And In Turning We Might See

What I was lacking you returned
I sculpted marble columns

The ones you fall from every few
nights whistling in the dark

each time in a different posture
as if it will make any difference

Ballerina spider popped
from a fortune cookie

Sometimes there is no sense
in fighting gravity

And yet always this,
a striptease for a skull
spinning on a black
gloved finger

But this is where I live
eyes run with moonlit musk

Where the ontological ventriloquist
breakdances in mesmerism
his teeth etched with the Stations

In the Tide Pod's hieroglyph
in some medium's lexicon

In the mime's bodiless de ja vu
in disembodied sudden touch,

Spun in this yarn
an apocalyptic ossuary,
bones whistling in mink:

Two mannequins use
to face one another
painted driftwood
in a soaked bed

In their stare
the sing song dream's end

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?
Editing stage: 

Comments

My most recent poem was of a dream. I can't imagine what it meant, if it meant anything at all, but this dream in this poem is definitely telling me something. I don't quite have the words to describe it, but it is a sort of relief and a sort of darkness, that don't counteract each other (a good darkness). Like a dream that I would still wake up from feeling rested (usually I don't feel rested if I wake up from a dream/can remember a dream in the morning). Or maybe like Halloween at childhood. The innocent fun of it, surrounded by cute tiny creatures and monsters and cartoon ghosts. Looking back, even though I often dressed like a princess, I think Halloween in the US is our first healthy exposure to the idea of death. My love of the holiday and my parents' positive treatment of it (not as something bad like some conservative Christians do) definitely helped shaped who I am today. Maybe the holiday is mostly "sanitized" today, but I think its a good way to help children learn about death in a way they could handle if we started using Halloween to talk about/remember our passed loved ones and ancestors again.

There is a quote that I very much like, regarding dreams: "We are, as a species, addicted to story. Even when the body goes to sleep, the mind stays up all night, telling itself stories." by Jonathan Gottschall who is an author. I don't exactly agree with the quote when it comes to bad dreams. I don't like bad dreams. As much as I enjoy the horror genre in my waking life, it just isn't the same as a nightmare. Nightmares aren't stories to me. Maybe elements of them would make for good horror or surrealist stories, but as a whole they affect me badly and no story should do that. Even stories with difficult messages are doing something good: teaching us a lesson. But I think nightmares just take all our worst fears and worries and make us live them in an inescapable way, like torture.

The words and images of the poem are beautiful as always. The transition from the consistent couplets in the beginning to the varied stanzas from the middle to the end give a sense of urgency and I like it a lot.

I also like the imagery of the spider ballerina, the ventriloquist, the mime, and the mannequins taken as a whole. Each are for or rely on display in some way. They each have to be a perfect construction in some way. A single noticeable slip-up ruins the performance or illusion. But each one of these is already imperfect in some way, so its okay. It's become a part of the show. The ballerina coming out of the cookie or just being a spider to begin with, the break dancing, the mime being disembodied, and the mannequins no longer looking at each other. Maybe the relief and darkness is me feeling a sense that imperfection is not only okay, but something to be celebrated. Maybe none of that was intended by the poem, but that was my interpretation after a few readings. Maybe in turning, instead of looking straight on at myself, I might see that my imperfections which seem so noticeable and strikingly bad, are not as bad when others see them. Just like in a ballet, where many small mistakes happen every performance, and the audience doesn't notice at all. Its still a magical, masterful, mesmerizing performance to them. It is only the ballerinas who beat themselves up for the little mistakes.

If I could make a few small suggestions:

I think a comma would help the flow at "nights whistling in the dark" --> "nights, whistling in the dark" (I might not have suggested it if the poem had no punctuation, but I see you decided to use some in the poem)

"sing song" --> sing-song

As for the title, I see it like the beginning of the poem, to be read fluidly with the words of the poem, like this:

And in turning we might see
What I was lacking you returned
I sculpted marble columns

I like that. Not all poems use that technique, so it takes getting used to. People usually pause after the title, so this makes us stop and realize the title doesn't always have to be treated that way. It can be an extension of the poem, but even if we don't read it at all, the poem makes sense, which is good. Sometimes I don't like the poem to depend on the title to be understood, sometimes I do. Usually though, I like something in between where the poem can be understood alone, but the title gives a hint for deeper understanding.

Take care and hope you are safe and warm in this crazy weather!

Kelsey

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very much, Kelsey.

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