06-13-2018, 10:09 PM
It always feels like sunday here.
That slow air so hot you can’t even think.
I would have: The hot air so slow you hardly think. . . . But this isn't my poem.
All the hotels are empty save for lost families
and cheating husbands.
This part seems kind of typical. But why not, sometimes?
We hide from la llorona, her horrific grieving
Because it connects to this.
body grazing the night fed streets like the slowest fire.
This image or description is interesting; it seems somehow it could be better, stronger in an easy-burn kind of way, if you get what I mean. Smoother.
Our bedroom is haunted by something new.
This thought almost stands out in a good way, too.
We watch bad tv shows and get bit by ants
all across our hands.
I pray in the car as my mom drives us home drunk.
I pray we don’t die on this empty highway.
I don’t to become folklore. After our death all
the teenagers will tell their little brothers about us to
scare them into crying.
This part seems pushed too far too fast. And seems to be missing a word.
It’s always almost something here.
I was almost state champion, could’ve been.
He almost died last week.
We almost got out of here, y’know.
This sounds like an almost ghost talking. Maybe so.
That slow air so hot you can’t even think.
I would have: The hot air so slow you hardly think. . . . But this isn't my poem.
All the hotels are empty save for lost families
and cheating husbands.
This part seems kind of typical. But why not, sometimes?
We hide from la llorona, her horrific grieving
Because it connects to this.
body grazing the night fed streets like the slowest fire.
This image or description is interesting; it seems somehow it could be better, stronger in an easy-burn kind of way, if you get what I mean. Smoother.
Our bedroom is haunted by something new.
This thought almost stands out in a good way, too.
We watch bad tv shows and get bit by ants
all across our hands.
I pray in the car as my mom drives us home drunk.
I pray we don’t die on this empty highway.
I don’t to become folklore. After our death all
the teenagers will tell their little brothers about us to
scare them into crying.
This part seems pushed too far too fast. And seems to be missing a word.
It’s always almost something here.
I was almost state champion, could’ve been.
He almost died last week.
We almost got out of here, y’know.
This sounds like an almost ghost talking. Maybe so.