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Your tires have tangled, tickled
tops of water until you dive
in your metal suit of paint and glass,
broken bones and a tank of gas.
You are just a box of bees,
your radio buzzes and breathes -
a fading breeze,
tire marks and pleas.
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- Your tires have tangled, tickled tops of water until you dive in your metal suit of paint and glass, broken bones and a tank of gas. You are just a box of bees, your radio buzzes and breathes - a fading breeze, tire marks and pleas. - |
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CommentsWow. I like it a lot
Thank you.
I like it too, especially the surprise awesome rhyming deal with "tank of gas." Yay!
Thank you Ms. Jayne!
I agree with telescopica, the surprise rhyming was cleverly done
-- I cannot see or feel, But I know. Thanks.
I generally like my poetry less abstract, but I love your work with sound. Alliteration, consonance, assonance--you use them so well that I have to read this aloud to myself. Sounds and images are your strengths.
I know I just fav'd a piece of yours, but I have to fav this as well. -- Critiquing someone's prose or poetry is an awesome thing to do. Less abstract? You won't see that from me very often.
I'm glad you liked it! Tell me this one isn't as vague as my others, did you understand it? I tried my best not to be vague. I agree with bananaprincess, your images and sounds and the feeling of being in there you get in this poem is superb.
-- listen out for the whisper, the whisper on the wind . . . |
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