04-16-2013, 07:00 PM
I'd like to know where to start revising, if I have a moment to look over this. Positive, negative feedback is appreciated- preferably also holding that you can pinpoint what you like or dislike so I can work on it. 
Thanks for reading!
We are at a park –
what park is irrelevant –
it is a park,
with benches
and lampposts
like little, portable
fires, hell incandescent.
It is late –
you do not need to know when –
late enough
that the world has
paused itself,
and you are probably
in bed, dreaming of eggs.
I am not alone –
you know from my use of “we” –
and my friend removes
the crust from his egg sandwich,
as I debate him,
lacking a podium
and an obedient audience.
“There’s a subtle difference,
I think,
between hell and a hand basket,”
I declare, and he watches,
contemplating.
“One you carry eggs in, and
the other you’re flayed alive in.”
He nods, not in agreement,
out of politeness,
the yoke dribbling
from his beard.
“Yes,” he agrees, “but they
are both words, and I exist,
you won’t deny that.”
I tell him that argument
doesn’t hold, that it’s unfair,
like comparing someone to Hitler,
but an eavesdropping lawyer
intervenes, stepping into our picnic,
and tells me I played well,
but that my friend has won,
and we all look out at the parking lot,
sick, eyes protruding, as we wonder
who set
our
cars
on
fire.
Thanks for reading!We are at a park –
what park is irrelevant –
it is a park,
with benches
and lampposts
like little, portable
fires, hell incandescent.
It is late –
you do not need to know when –
late enough
that the world has
paused itself,
and you are probably
in bed, dreaming of eggs.
I am not alone –
you know from my use of “we” –
and my friend removes
the crust from his egg sandwich,
as I debate him,
lacking a podium
and an obedient audience.
“There’s a subtle difference,
I think,
between hell and a hand basket,”
I declare, and he watches,
contemplating.
“One you carry eggs in, and
the other you’re flayed alive in.”
He nods, not in agreement,
out of politeness,
the yoke dribbling
from his beard.
“Yes,” he agrees, “but they
are both words, and I exist,
you won’t deny that.”
I tell him that argument
doesn’t hold, that it’s unfair,
like comparing someone to Hitler,
but an eavesdropping lawyer
intervenes, stepping into our picnic,
and tells me I played well,
but that my friend has won,
and we all look out at the parking lot,
sick, eyes protruding, as we wonder
who set
our
cars
on
fire.