meditation, revised

[tectak]

the first one I posted a month ago or so. see here . now here's my rewrite.
Hi cloudy,
Good to see a rewrite. Line by line on this one. Not at all bad but:
Wrapped inside out I wander in Not always a great idea to start with an enigma...no matter how clever you think the in-in wordplay is. It sounds a little too like the "my-first-is-in-pie-but-not-in-pork" genre.
and if I’m lucky, can observe
my floating, glinting, golden soul
diving into pumping heart,
with my brain still in its clutches,
reaching down, transforming. Phew. What the hell does all this mean? It is clearly unclear and proud of itself.Psycho-physiologically it presents a contorted image which has too many metaphorical mismatches. A golden soul diving whilst floating; a soul in a heart clutching a brain yet reaching down...its got its hands full but is yet able to transform. No. It is messy and so comes across as meaningless drivel. You are trying to say something profound but getting mixed up up with confound.

Intimately, liltingly, it happens.
A process small beyond my knowledge
too intricate for comprehension, This falls into the schoolboy howler league of watching "imperceptible movent" or seeing "invisible signs". And what is this "it" thing anyway. You do not say yet you refer to "it" as though the reader should have knowledge a priori. "It" is unrelated and remains so.

shifting to the realm of the people of the quarks. I been lost here before

They shiver and it shakes the world. It, it, it! Get rid of "it"
Fourth dimensional inhabitants of our circled existence, pseudo-science. We all live in 4 dimensions by some valid hypothethis L,B,W and T.
infinitely larger than the titans of our minds. I am now unable to comment on the content of this piece as I do not have the required hallucinogen to hand...accordingly I will talk about the poetic virtue of the stanza. Well....
With wagging fingers they decide
we are too cold, we have been lost
so their tiny hands press
human-sized slices of the world’s communal Soul
into those with open bodies.

With their otherness they border-hop
between spiritual and temporal.


My eyes linger shut,
but I have seen.

Hi,
I cannot say I am happy with myself for the comments I have made but that should not be taken as a concession.All is opinion.....but not everything that is print is poetry. You are going to insist on your right to write...right? OK. But if you just took some time to READ what you have written, out loud and often, you would hear the cracks in the tolling bell. I can almost forgive the Lewis Caroll pretensions but I cannot forgive the inconsistency. I have no idea at all what this is about but feel I ought to know. When it was brillig and the slivey toaves came out I knew where I was, or didn't need to care...with this piece I am just lost. It is not poetic, either.
I appreciate your workshopping attitude and hope you can get something good out of my crit.
Best(again)
tectak