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The One Face That Reveals Them All

This Town is Still Waiting

We still wait alone here, fading and degenerate colors flown in the dark and I continue to tape missing posters to the vacant office glow in the remembrance of your likeness.
Things have changed, but so much they remain the same.
I sometimes note the change in your increased absence, in the rorschach smear I have of you, and........ the twist of your nose. But in all these changes, as the lie of your new face slops in my worn hands, know that I will keep you safe, this.
I still bother the decayed star clusters found in discolored trees opening with hands gnarled, covering us in spindles of stabbing shade, where no light shines , and I blow them toward up you in loving bunches.
You may not see them-- you will hear them buzz in the delirious tongues of orphaned demons; they will sting your doe eyes till you see the whispers and small motions of this town which still waits for you, and where you will always be.
Though the rotting fog makes things vague , I remind myself to be a trooper
and walk through it toward you, my slumpy moon face, the One Face That Stills: The One Which Reveals All The Others. It burns the the Face which you have never seen,
which I will only reveal at the moment of your return. It is reflected in my fellow denizens' degeneration, the smell of which colors my dreams, their long faces and oblong curators of capped moonlight, always replaced with a special chemistry which will be yours again, which will infect the wind blowing through this empty place crawling with armadillo eyes and the flying rodent's moon psalm, which has suddenly made my nose putty and which touches yours' in your painted likeness which, when the pale sun finally boils here, drools in my hands.
This poisoned somnabulism flooding your brain as a spiked origami flower unfurlinng in the hidden crags of your soft tissue. In the fermenting nocturnes, silent hatchlings which silence you with a still adoration reserved for a saint, you will realize you've only ever been here, and wherever you go, here you are.
Consider this an approaching note from the town and man who still loves you, and The One Face That Stills in the darkroom of your fitful, palsied sleep; look in the mirror and see if I have paid a visit, those bulbous cataracts of long stars drooling from your doe eyes put on some glasses if it seems an oversight and manifest in the sick deja vu of a sudden meeting in the whole of sincerity: eye to eye.

Editing stage: 


I stumbled a few times on my first read-thru, started getting the hang of it, then figured out what was throwing me off. So, the second & third time I read thru I was more easily moved.
This is a decent piece that could use some tightening up. I got a couple suggestions but, as for what threw me off, I wouldn't know where or what to do. I'm sure the big guys here will also read what I post here & guide u more eloquently with what I noticed.
First, the stumbles I had were sentences that seemed either out of order or had a word that didn't fit in.

"and I blow them toward up you in loving bunches"
Maybe blow them up toward you, or even just up to you.

"in the remembrance of your likeness"
I think 'the shouldn't be in there. In remembrance, or in the memory if ur rlly attached to that 'the'.

Unfurlinng- easy fix.

There's maybe one or two other little things like those and those aren't rlly a big deal.

this empty place crawling with armadillo eyes and the flying rodent's moon psalm,
LOVED this line! If u change it you will be hearing from me again!
Your descriptive style is incredible! This piece felt very dark, lonely & even frightening at times but with heavy forlorn & wistful tones that meshed together perfectly. At first, I thought it was about a very close loved one had passed, then I felt it was about you (or the narrator) coping alone after a stroke, then I thought the loved one had the stroke or dementia ( or something similar, idk) & the the narrator stayed by their side even after death. That's not what threw me, though. I like the mystery in the interpretations. Rlly had me think & pay closer attention.

Alright, I think I built enough tension. Are you leaning down to your screen? You ready?
What threw me was it didn't read like a poem at all. It wouldn't flow in my head.
I realized it reads very much like a letter. A very poetic & beautiful letter, but not a poem. I've done that here a couple times but never changed them. Just said screw it, it's short story just shaped like a poem.

Loved reading this & will come back & read it again. Sry it's a long critique but it's a long piece.

Nullus Anxietas fellow neopoet
I look forward to more

Oops. Posted twice

Have the generosity of spirit to put in some paragraph breaks and I'll have another look.

A new workshop on the most important element of poetry-
'Rhythm and Meter in Poetry'

but we owe you nothing. There's plenty of good stuff to read.

A new workshop on the most important element of poetry-
'Rhythm and Meter in Poetry'

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