Turds of GODown

[heslopian]

Not a biggie anymore
to surrealize my being,
born in an explosion
of Beckettian mantras Good line. I like how you call back to surrealism by referencing Beckett.
pulsating in a pale sardonic, Should a comma come after "pale"?
shivering rhythm, my lines
seduced by booze reduced
to typing my rant
straight out:

The winter had decided
not to come upon us as of yet;
instead it chose procrastination
and blew warm rainy winds
into our stupid faces.

There's some April to come yet,
as unloved as before:
this is the fifth week of the year.
It meets me unprepared,
I’ll try its tribulations
I’ll dance its macabrees**.
I macaronize*** what
it holds dear
because it does the same to me.

I cannot fight it but I will.
I love those fights,
that can’t go well,
because they’re real
and leave me hanging
in frowzy, sneering alleys
because they tell my life to me.

Some lonesome crows,
they keep on sailing
like turds of god**** I really like this line. It's aggressive and crude without being inadvertantly funny.
across my sullen
deep white-yellow* frightening skies.
---------------
*it's raining bile
** danse macabre / Books of Maccabees
*** macaronize (mingling languages: ridicule)
**** looked like them, sorry Why not just go back and edit this line instead of making a new footnote?

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listening to Soul Dressing, performed by Roy Buchanan:
http://youtu.be/EEeoqx2WPYQ

The poem has a lot of good individual lines, but there isn't much texture. It's mostly just elegant phrasing, which makes it feel a bit diffuse and empty. I'd suggest adding more narrative; come up with an idea or image on which the poem can hinge. JMHO, of course. Thank you for the read