So, still like this quite a bit. A few areas to look at:
(03-15-2017, 03:33 AM)Lizzie Wrote: Camazotz
We all look mass-produced here,--this is a perfectly good opening line. I did think of an interesting option though to mix it up a bit. This is just an option to consider not a flaw. What if you ending line one with "like God"/ then on L2 you could probably pull up "the million pack" Just a thought given the content that like God would imply a darker opening.
like God got a discount buying
the million pack of humans in cool summer neutrals— --still love this line, especially the second half of it. I like it for the content and the tone of the speaker.
Ecru Mushroom, Pinot Grigio, Serengeti Sun.
I should buy my dresses wholesale too, the family pack,
so I don't ever run out
(on everyone).--often I shy away from parentheticals. I do like this though as it hints at slight desperation and a hidden need to escape.
I wear my part like a dress while I sweep
and whistle like Cinderella with her mice,
but nicely dressed and less maligned. --I don't think you need this line.
Strike that, we can't keep rodents;
the HOA is prejudiced against vermin.
So, we get presentable pets:
Shih Tzu, Chihuahua,
Pekingese, Pomeranian.
Emperor scorpions and hissing cockroaches
are for outlandish people who fail to assimilate.
I'm one of those people now--Nice line after the strophe break--a free verse sort of turn.
whose fantasies of originality actualize --Not sure I like "of originality"
by choosing a paint swatch
from four different shades of cafe au lait.
I'm becoming one with this stage set
of Baja Beige, weatherproof, composite siding.--I think this is one too many colors. Possible cut and simply roll into the siding. The idea is good but I think we get it by now.
What would Bukowski say?
Whine, whine, wine.
You're right, Charles, I shouldn't complain
since the drone life is smooth
and there's abundant company
among rows and rows of common blooms,--nice phrasing
no less beautiful for being clones.--Might want to introduce a strophe break here to make the last two lines pop more.
We're a North Dakota sunflower field,
all smiling up at a humdrum sun.--I think you nail it with the last two lines.
I hope the comments help. This is a fun piece.
Best,
Todd
We all look mass-produced here,
like God got a discount buying the million pack of humans
in cool summer neutrals— Ecru Mushroom, Pinot Grigio, Serengeti Sun. I should buy my dresses wholesale too,
the family pack, so I don't ever run out (on everyone).
I play a part, becoming one
with this stage set of Baja Beige,
weatherproof, composite siding: ThePorcelain Mater,
The Breast Who Doesn't Sweat.
I wear my part like a dress while I sweep and whistle like Cinderella with her mice, but better dressed and less maligned. Strike that, we can't keep rodents; the HOA is prejudiced against pests. So, we get presentable pets:
Shih Tzu, Chihuahua,
Pekingese, Pomeranian.
Emperor scorpions and hissing cockroaches
are for outlandish people who fail to assimilate.
I planted purple velvet petunias and covered the gaps of exposed earth with cedar, but its spicy red is bold; others chose white pebble or brown loam. Perhaps waxen pansies will appease the bedroom windows across the road, placate the unblinking eyes who eternally mind the sidewalks.
I'm one of those people now whose fantasies of originality actualize by choosing a paint swatch from among four different shades of cafe au lait. What would Bukowski say? Whine, whine, wine.
You're right, Charlie, I shouldn't complain since the drone life is smooth and there's abundant company among rows and rows of common blooms, no less beautiful for being clones. We're a North Dakota sunflower field, all smiling up at a humdrum sun.
We all look mass-produced here, like God got a discount buying the million pack of humans
in cool summer neutrals— Ecru Mushroom, Pinot Grigio, Serengeti Sun. I should buy my dresses wholesale too, the family pack, so I don't ever run out (on everyone).
I wear my part like a dress while I sweep and whistle like Cinderella with her mice, but dressed better and less maligned. Strike that, we can't keep rodents; the HOA is prejudiced against pests. So, we get presentable pets, not hissing cockroaches or emperor scorpions. That's for outlandish people who fail to assimilate.
Our houses coordinate for similarity pleases the eye, but exactness bores. Fantasies of originality actualize as we paint our garage doors a slightly different shade of cafe au lait; together, we're a perfect palate.
I play a part, becoming one with this stage set of Baja Beige, weather-proof, composite siding. My parts are: The Perma-Smile, The Calm Mom, The Breast Who Doesn't Sweat. I've learned my lines and knocked on the doors of my characters' minds, but we can't connect.
What would Bukowski say?
“Whine, whine, wine.”
You're right, Charlie, I shouldn't complain since the drone life is smooth and there's abundant company among rows and rows of common blooms, no less beautiful for being clones. We're a North Dakota sunflower field, all smiling up at a humdrum sun.
I play a part. I wear it like a dress while I sweep and whistle like Cinderella with her mice, but dressed better and less maligned. Strike that, we can't keep rodents; the HOA is prejudiced against pests. So, we get presentable pets, not hissing cockroaches or emperor scorpions. That's for outlandish people who fail to assimilate.
We all look mass-produced here, like God got a discount buying the million pack of humans
in cool summer neutrals— Ecru Mushroom, Pinot Grigio, Serengeti Sun. I should buy my dresses wholesale too, the family pack, so I don't ever run out (on everyone).
Our houses coordinate
for similarity pleases the eye, but exactness bores—the horror! Fantasies of originality actualize as we paint our garage doors a slightly different shade of cafe au lait; together, we're a perfect palate.
I play a part, becoming one with this stage set of Baja Beige, weather-proof, composite siding. My parts are: The Perma-Smile, The Calm Mom, The Breast Who Doesn't Sweat. I've learned my lines and knocked on the doors of my characters' minds, but we can't connect.
What would Bukowski say?
“Whine, whine, wine.”
You're right, Charlie, I shouldn't complain since the drone life is smooth and there's abundant company among rows and rows of common blooms, no less beautiful for being clones. We're a North Dakota sunflower field, all smiling up at a humdrum sun.
