10-18-2014, 03:30 AM
that finished this puzzle and kept those wayward parts
from escaping into the dust and dirt.
You were the last piece, the satisfaction,
the beginning and the end, the metaphor
I like that part. And I like this poem especially because of that part. I can't say that, because you posted this in Serious, and that says that you are as confident as a person on this site can be without being confident enough not to have to ask anyone on a website if it's good enough. And maybe it's not good enough, but I can't say that. If I were to say it was good enough just based on the draft you alone created, you would think less of me; and having seen your photograph, I don't want you to think so badly of me.
as it turns toward the window once more
and sighs, not audibly,
but still heavily, as if it’s done this
one too many times.
I like that. Why?
The curtain whispers in my ear,
the single-paned window rattles softly
against my knuckles, and my fingers move
like the legs of a spider as he drops from the ceiling
and makes his way down to the floor.
I describe my body slowly
I like that too.
I don't want to rearrange your poem to the point that I would have made it myself. And I kind of want you to wonder why I like those parts. Or why anyone might like those parts, though it might just be I like them for personal reasons which is even more reason for you to wonder about them.
“Make this perfect,
just in case.”
When I got to the end, I liked that. How you ended it. I might not have said enough, but I'm not done yet. It's the Internet, so I sometimes have to come back and make more comments. The Internet makes it sometimes seem that I've said enough, although I knew all the while that I haven't. But I don't claim that I've said enough. Nor that I'm not coming back, to read it again, and to maybe have something better to say.
from escaping into the dust and dirt.
You were the last piece, the satisfaction,
the beginning and the end, the metaphor
I like that part. And I like this poem especially because of that part. I can't say that, because you posted this in Serious, and that says that you are as confident as a person on this site can be without being confident enough not to have to ask anyone on a website if it's good enough. And maybe it's not good enough, but I can't say that. If I were to say it was good enough just based on the draft you alone created, you would think less of me; and having seen your photograph, I don't want you to think so badly of me.
as it turns toward the window once more
and sighs, not audibly,
but still heavily, as if it’s done this
one too many times.
I like that. Why?
The curtain whispers in my ear,
the single-paned window rattles softly
against my knuckles, and my fingers move
like the legs of a spider as he drops from the ceiling
and makes his way down to the floor.
I describe my body slowly
I like that too.
I don't want to rearrange your poem to the point that I would have made it myself. And I kind of want you to wonder why I like those parts. Or why anyone might like those parts, though it might just be I like them for personal reasons which is even more reason for you to wonder about them.
“Make this perfect,
just in case.”
When I got to the end, I liked that. How you ended it. I might not have said enough, but I'm not done yet. It's the Internet, so I sometimes have to come back and make more comments. The Internet makes it sometimes seem that I've said enough, although I knew all the while that I haven't. But I don't claim that I've said enough. Nor that I'm not coming back, to read it again, and to maybe have something better to say.