01-21-2019, 03:18 PM
I really wounded myself, if you consider the erotic connotations of those reams of change. . . . Also, before my anxiety hangover sets in, I'll say that this poem is funny to me, because everything in it, that is figurative, is actual. She does live in a town called Eden. There actually is a broken bridge. There actually is a train and a candle and a river. And there actually was a solar eclipse the day me and her met. . . . But I don't think those details are important. I think, at least to me, that the poem makes sense just as it is.
I have one friend left that I kind of trust. I got him drunk and forced him to read this poem. I said tell me if any line sticks out to you. And he said the line about some women being too good for dreams. And that's what I wanted him to say. To me, that's all I wanted to say. And I built a whole poem around it.
Uh oh, here comes the psychosis hangover. I'll try not to type any nonsense during this hellfest. But, after all, I always dig and bury myself into a hole, and I write most of my poems and stories while climbing out of them. That's my method.
I have one friend left that I kind of trust. I got him drunk and forced him to read this poem. I said tell me if any line sticks out to you. And he said the line about some women being too good for dreams. And that's what I wanted him to say. To me, that's all I wanted to say. And I built a whole poem around it.
Uh oh, here comes the psychosis hangover. I'll try not to type any nonsense during this hellfest. But, after all, I always dig and bury myself into a hole, and I write most of my poems and stories while climbing out of them. That's my method.