Golden Apples edit 2

[tectak]

A rickety draft (or a draft with the Rickets!) By adding more sound effects (and a good bit of regularity with the accents), I hope I've taken the appropriate step from prose to poesy (em dash) er, poetry. There's also more parenthetics (hooray?) and a slightly lighter tone.
The night before last spring sprouted, I was This was supposed to be "last spring sprang", which I thought was terribly (as in, terrible) funny play on words. Anyway... Why last? It cannot be next and as you do not specify the spring before last (or any year) it MUST be last spring. So. "The night before spring returned to my door...". Unless this is mirth-verse I just do not see why you think "spring sprouted" is funny enough to be left in on merit.
pondering over an unwritten tale on my desk, when 
a gust of wind rattled our rooftop. 
Slipping outside to see the damage, I saw 
death soaring swiftly over the city, 
her drab dress bearing orange blossoms.
[Remember your botany (or is it your myths)?
Oranges are Hesperidia, so named
for the golden apples of inspiration
growing in the gardens of Hesperides.] I am a bit sure the message of this parenthetic is important, but I've yet to think of a better way to so incorporate it. (or does it fit even as part of the poem proper?) What is this all about? Is it an uppity footnote? Why are you launching in to admittedly needed explanatory notes? It IS that obscure but don't tell me what you mean, write what you mean in the poem.
I'd gleaned a quest! With curious heart,
I grabbed the book and pen by my porch, Spatial problem is gone, I hope. I'm keeping the dreamy (drugged up) aesthetic. I shot an elephant in my pyjamas.Howler. If anyone grabbed me by my porch I would lash out.
padlocked my door, and followed her course 
through the clouds. No souls swept the streets I bet they were on strike. You just can't get the staff these days
as if all but I knew death's business then, The clunkiness here was consciously kept in. I'm still looking for a better way to reword this line altogether. I repeat. "No souls swept the streets as if all but I knew death's business. Crickets clicked their heels to the call of a funeral party of stars"...but what the hell it all means is beyond me.
and crickets clicked their heels to the call
of a funeral party of stars. Alone at night,
with death soaring swiftly over the city? I question the use of this question mark. Is it a question?
Fear thus filled me (call me a coward). "Thus" is superfluous and pretentious and pedantic and purposeless and thus you should omit it
But then, a scream shot through the silence Padding is gone. But then again...and then again. Truly, dreadfully childish. You are MUCH better than this.
between the cold cricket chants. I hope this is better than the dirge and silence thing. Imagery is shot to hell. Crickets were clicking their heels (good) but now they are chanting crickets. One or the other. Please
Its sound was as fair as a fateful seedling You are now about to vanish off my radar.This flying machine has crashed. It is a wreck. You cannot be serious so nor can I. Goodbye.
springing from springtime soil Simile hopefully clarified.
to the sower so beholden. So, I ran
to the source, and found the corpse
of Mrs. Miller's son. He'd fallen from
the fairest Bennet's window; When replaced with a semicolon.
a gust of wind had pushed him off.
His scattered brains were sower's seeds Hope this is a better wording.
scattered on springtime soil.
Moments ago, he was singing so: 
"Judy, your hair is an orange's zest,
the flavorful prelude veiling your luscious breasts, 
the oily rind! Let me peel the skin-layers off, 
to taste of the fat flesh, your hot heart!" A fuller response: a girl might be incomparable to an orange, but (1) it is a bit of a joke (a lot of poems out there do hammy comparisons like this) and (2) more importantly, the comparison is meant to be a bridge to the idea of death and sex bringing inspiration. But hey, I hope this more detailed metaphor gives a bit of reason to the dirty mind of Mrs. Miller's son.
(Your cunt) A dutiful neighbor, I gave the girl 
my sympathies, then slipped swiftly away. Vain omitted.
And when I reached my door, I found 
that I had forgotten my key; it wouldn't be
until the dawn that I'd return to my desk. 
Lucky I had my book and pen! 
A bit responsive, but the problems seem to mostly relate to manner, so I'm not entirely convinced the poem's matter is fundamentally flawed (then again, I haven't seen anyone argue for that yet, so....) 

Hi river,
Initially, I was not sure what this was about. Now I am sure I don't know...so, progress.
What is this? Are you critting your own work?
This forum, river, is for work which is polished but needs a damn good buffing. Just post your poem. I cannot make out what is and is not the poem anymore...or I cannot be bothered and it is all your fault.
Best,
tectak