Beyond

[Leanne]

I hadn't read this before now, it does sound like I was taking you to task doesn't it? Sorry!

I'm doing a close reading now for some critique, it will take a while.

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Lots to like here, but I'd say there's just as much that could be chopped out -- nobody much likes being preached at, and that's the feeling I got from a couple of these stanzas. I think you need to expect that your readers can "get" things on their own, without it being spelled out in too obvious a fashion.

One more bleak spring.
One more of power and agony. -- does the repetition of "one more" really serve a purpose? It seems to me that "of power and agony" (without the full stop on the first line) would do nicely
A burning death in every momentary pleasure;
Botched pleasure makes a man immortal. -- pleasure isn't really a strong enough word to use twice

One more, heated desert of bright color, -- this repetition, however, echoes the first line of the preceding stanza well
And I can smash the cup to the ground; -- probably don't need "and" here
And lick it up that way. -- this is not bad, but you might consider "and lick the liquid up that way"
Gulp after gulps of dirt-and-lace passion. -- gulp after gulp, no s or it doesn't work
With the soft desserts between the long- -- "the" could go
Lasting meals, with fine-choking pleasures.

I eat to fulfillment, in a full body
Blackened by an Earth scorched by electric light, -- "an" is unnecessary... with the capital E, it's clear there's only one Earth
Local, electrical, pattern recognized message-signs,
And puny lights, that outshine and glow the body. -- not sure of "glow" as a verb here, but it's not awful

I darken my face with emotion:
"We are not expected to feel this way…
We're not to say, and do, like that
Any more…" It's too late, we weren't born
For that excrement brown that delights
You when you think of farms… -- this stanza, while not badly written, doesn't seem to add anything in the way of showing; it's very tell-y and obvious, while I prefer my poetry to be subtle... but that's my preference, after all

When you see the faded, plain yellow envelopes
With the creases that like-dirt traces on the neck -- is "that" supposed to be here?
Of a body that contains a message, from the symbols
Of old youth: - "We're not old youth.- -- the dashes seems weird

"We're fresh as the light of the new cast on screen;
That flashes with its electric light that leaves no ghosts on our eyelids. -- electric light is repetitive
We've found a way of getting past that…"
You paint your face like I do, in that light;
Like a black slave, whose pain is obsolete too.
Darkened with emotion, not of cruel comedy,
But tragedy.

One more Dionysian spring;
And I'll throw the cup to the ground, -- nice revisiting of S2
And lap it up thickstyle like a cow chewing its cud. -- you could remove "like" to make this stronger as a metaphor with a comma after "thickstyle"
"We're not meant to feel that way anymore…"

No, you're not allowed to feel this way any more: -- this is awkward and tell-y when stated straight out, and it's really implied by the rest of the poem
So you throw nothing to the ground,
You play nothing on the air,
You send nothing through the waves,
You leave nothing but exhaust smoke,
From an exhausted life that burns like cold air on a bald head. -- nice!

One more excrement brown spring, -- have you thought about "excremental" instead of "excrement brown"?
And I'll throw blackface to the ground,
In the noon of my emotions;
Where pale skinned vampires eat but don't swallow

The soul of the music,
Foisted on them by the villainy of the clowns that love too much.
"Too much love is a crime. A damn shame…"
I put those words in your mouth,
Because you're still choking on exhausted smoke.-- repetitive
Excuses, frozen offerings where you keep corpses in two freezers in your basement,
Ghosts that have no bodies, bodies that have no ghosts…

Spirits that have no souls,
Love that has no heat,
Talent that has no movement,
Dances that have no life.

One more, not for the road;
The broken flesh of the crippled host;
Not for the parasites that need the oil,
The blood, the weapons, and the drugs.
But for the sun, that melts the heart,
The trees that calm the air,
With their own humble dances. -- this is a good stanza, lots of images that give the reader credit for being able to unravel meaning him/herself

One more dance, with drunken longing,
Before I put on the black of race tracks, tar, and racist pride;
The Capital clear black of post humanity, no country, no race,
No emotion; no lasting promises. -- this stanza is really heavy-handed

Guilt free, stricken mood swings, no hope,
Just tears. No books to fling; but just rest the chaliced head,
The bored sex, the crippled spring, the exhaust winter,
Eagle eyed jealousy, knife chosen envy, bleeding rooftops
Of meaningless dropping birds, and lonely rain!
More lonely than a kiss, on a head that keeps talking on the phone;
A fallen gravestone in a background you never knew. -- more excellent imagery, I like this stanza

When I walk within one more house I don't want
And then another, and another;
Put the whole thing down to one more morning, one more spring, -
One more winter, one more year. -- good ending