In Promise

[billy]

I have smoked these fags to the bone;
Egg-shelled my reputation
With cartoned rags, and anglo-igloos. this line stumped me unless it imeans a house
And I wanted so much to give in to this night.

How I wanted the warm sputters of competent love
To glue its paramount inquisitions
To the indispensable parachutes of my plight.
But they will not listen!
Those that love. it reads really well and it's certainly poetic but it's not giving me anything

You cannot love only a little bit; feels cliche
Because a fella has his moods. this line feels different than the rest of the poem, fella doesn't work for me, the rest of the poem has a old poem feel to it.,
And most is a reflex in the moment of it,
And after that,
Another mood.
Can’t you see that?

Or do I have—to tell you:
Never mind.
What I mean to say is: I don’t know.
That I do know:—But, so do you?
You say so. But in what way is that shown? i like the sonics from the but's in this stanza.

You can’t take offence, if I innocently
Murder the docile fitness of your lies.
So, they were lies. With no offence.
But have you not offended my eyes?

A cry is such a clichéd wager.
Some can fake cries. Actors do it.
But you aren’t concerned about that.
You’re assaulted by the real thing. i

Yes, I cry, and cut my eyes
Like farts in the dismal,
Jocund fissures of my heart.
But that’s what the word means.

My heart has its cracks,
And above and beyond my literal
Connection, it farts.
Like the rapid fissure of your part,
When rapidly visited by those fiends.

I am a fiend that measures his depths.
And wagers no love that his laughter can’t wed;
—To eyes in the sky, and burps on the can:
I was a fit that coiled after bed.

And you,—
Closeted camerado of the pen,
Could dance such ectopic dangers not sure ectopic dangers work.
That, born of tried and tried
Again measures,
I thought you were my friend.

I thought you were my friend.
I thought you—were my friend,
Again. After all we’d been through.
I shutter to use the word, again.

Was it not immanent in my proposal?

it feels like a train of thought rant at not being able to get it down on paper. i kept going back the farting heart for some reason. it has a Shakespearian feel to it and if that was an aim, it succeeded well.
in truth i'm not competent enough to leave any more feedback than i did, and even that is suspect, but it's what i perceived. wish i could be of more help.