Awake

[Kerbonzo_beenz]

Yellow, like bile
on the shoreline
bleeding into a 
raw umber.

Ripples in the pool of formaldahyde;
bloated organs
bobbing up and down
as I wade through it.

Drifting aloft at the bottom;
are bodies in stiff profile
their cold hands caress my legs.

In the middle  
is a hill of black sand
supporting a flakeing corpse
nailed to a cross.
It's head bowed far
below its sunken shoulders.

I crawl up the little island
and rest against the cross--

Their bodies are resting
but their souls are awake.

[Mark A Becker]

Hello beenz-
A few comments below:

Ripples in the lake of formaldahyde;
bloated organs 
bobbing up and down. S.1 seems disconnected from the rest of this piece

The pickled ferryman love this description
cracks his soft bones, also love this this, but maybe "brittle" instead of soft?
rowing with a long wooden spoon,
on a saturated piece of driftwood.

We travel down the whisking rapids  This S.3 also seems disconnected: now it's "we" instead of the singular "ferryman"
and finger forests
to the epicenter;
from each of its glorious folds
I will discover--
ever spiralling truth.  sp. "spiralling" should be one "l"
  I'm afraid this ending does nothing for me, esp ""spiraling truth"

I think that a modification of S.2 could yield a very cool short poem. I would suggest keeping S.2 L.1-2, and the "driftwood", and the "whisking rapids". The whole business of discovering ever spiraling truth is just too abstract, esp when you incorporated some other strong, concrete imagery. Flesh out the concrete deatils in a more realistic way and I think you'll be on to something. 

ps- Not sure of the "shock value" of S.1 in this piece, but  it could be part of another, macabre poem.

Hopefully others will comment, and they may read it completely differently than me.

Anywho, that's all,
Mark

[Kerbonzo_beenz]

Hey thank's, thats really helpful, Imma make two poems out of this one poem now.