Rhys

[UselessBlueprint]

Rhys
 
Smile please- the familiar entreaty of old men on the street,
Much to our rage, eroding our carefully painted faces, that endless devotion, interrupted with regular creases buried in and in by reluctant concessions of basic human need for, a currency of, reciprocation. I thought it was so clever of Jean Rhys- I pictured her furs dulled by the same condescension, dolling out builder’s tea with feigned, knees, to get passed the traffic lights without one’s confidence being further divided- ‘There’s a hole in your tights.’ Damn, a desire so strong as just one of the dithering dears, to smash their faces in- just once, with a bottle. But smoke curled around his features and dabbed at reality so pleasingly, lamp-light incisions pronounced my bone structure, stroked my self-image, so generous- yet subtly, I didn’t even shudder
 
 ; So profanely flattered that here I am in my own flat alone, stupid and hammered. 

All right, I'll give this one a go, since it has largely been passed over for now. I'll admit, it was close to being a difficult read, and was definitely not a pleasant one. I find I say this pretty often here, but I must spare the line-by-line critique due to a noticeable lack of lines (consider this a Con).

That said, you have some arrangements and images here that work incredibly well, and would be appreciated in the right style of poem. I think particularly of "lamp-light incisions", "eroding our carefully painted faces", and to a lesser degree, "smoke curled around his features" -- which at least provides a fair visual description of the scene, even if not adding much poetic layer.

Beyond these, I mostly see another drunken rant, stream-of-consciousness sort of thing.