Saying Goodbye (first edit)

[tectak]

Hi fim,
you could be forgiven for wondering why some of the Serious Crits are pedandic arsehole reconstructors such as me, when you write an otherwise perfectly acceptable piece but deny yourself the accolade due to you because, if not wholly then partly, you fail to punctuate to any degree. We ask: can you? Do you not want to? Do you think it is a valid or somehow creative ommission? To compound the imprecision overwhelmingly featured, you capitalise every line. Why? Did some long past but remembered poem you read exhibit this idiosyncrasy?
Onward.
A Difficult Farewell

A light vanished from my life
Quiet settles where warmth had been silence and darkness and warmth are not mutually exclusive and quietness is most certainly not fungible with warmth.Needs looking at
Dullness obscures my senses....and I am not convinced that dullness ever obscures. Your poetic license may be endorsed...three points
A total stranger walks in cliche and a universally bad one.

My feet are covered with mud and moss
I’ve wandered from the trail
My eyes dart about for a familiar feature
Any recognizable detail Tripping meter and though a forced rhyme it gets away with it because it seems an unforced error...accidents happen.

I pushed the stacks of expensive chips
Beyond the betting line
Then gaze blankly at an elevated infinity
Oblivious to the roll of the die Huh? You have had a gush of poetic piss which caught you unawares. This is called incontinent prose in our house. I am wetted by it but do not like it.

I radioed for takeoff clearance
Received a release to fly
Pushed the power levers forward
Without a flight plan on file It must be me, but I am just not prepared to work on meaning.We are in twin-engined prop driven something and we are about to discourse on...er...batter? Sorry. I need that flight plan.

I glared at the batter with resolute disdain
Ground the ball deep in a well-worn mitt
Elevated my arms as I twisted and kicked
Without a clue as to what I might pitch

I dropped you off at the airport
Got in the truck and drove down the street
It took a while before I realized
The guy in the truck wasn’t me.Well, that's a relief. I am not crazy after all. You (the character, billy, the character)are.

Some like obscurity. I like intent to be obscure. This lacks the one and has the other in spades. You choose. Your poem.
I do not dislike it but it seems to irritate itself past the point of endurance, like a persistent itch in the small of my back. I cannot quite reach it so I need someone else to scratch. Good luck.
Best,
tectak