Clockhands

[LiteraryAntiquity]

"He's sprawled, drawing on Gabriel's thighs with a lit cigarette.
Catalysts of war shot to womb impregnating covered, weighty ebony-stars.
Sarkozy-styled suits drenched in a "hardcore"-teenager's four percentage alcoholic consumption
and he wastes time in the shower. "

So far, for me, this is sensory overload. I follow five percent of what's going on, and while the imagery seems interesting enough, it comes across as extremely muddled.
It's all very "new", but it feels like a lump of creativity thrown into a blender that's set on mach speed.

"He's sprawled, drawing on Gabriel's thighs with a lit cigarette."
Okay. Fairly cut-and-dry.

"Catalysts of war shot to womb impregnating covered, weighty ebony-stars."
Catalysts of war shot to womb? Huh? What's up with the weird syntax? The first half doesn't give me anything, although the second is clear enough.

"Sarkozy-styled suits drenched in a "hardcore"-teenager's four percentage alcoholic consumption "
The line is long enough as it is; I don't think "hardcore" is needed.
Four percentage alcohol consumption. I'm not too sure about "four percentage", also, why alcoholic "consumption?; why not " alcoholic drink"? I like "Sarkozy-styled suits drenched", but it drags on too long for my tastes.

"And he wastes time in the shower."
This line did nothing for me, as I have barely any context to put it into.

"Perched on the empire state building, kicking legs - the nobody's child. "
Okay, so now we're on The Empire State Building! Standalone I love this line, but the abrupt transition makes me raise an eyebrow. "Kicking legs" and "Perched" creates a conflicting image in my mind, which further offsets me.

"As tail-coated transvestites march against tail-coated bureaucrats to hunch over tables with effortless-breathing fantasy. "
Is this supposed to be some sort of apocalyptical message? What does "effortless-breathing fantasy." mean? Hunch over tables?
I like the image initially, but it just gets too convoluted.

Owls wearing cone-heads and silk bras, their intellect hidden in cracked feathers and she nervously watches.
And THIS is where I stopped reading. Not only am I assailed by MORE obfuscated imagery, another character is introduced! Remember the blender analogy? You've just added toffee bits and metal shavings to the mix, and the damn thing has opened up a wormhole in my kitchen; I chose to pull the plug here.

Standard photographs, ring-marked and photoshopped, for lockets divided between wife and mistress.
Why the adjective "standard"? I understand the rest of this line, but at this point I'm utterly disinterested.

"Hypnagogic joy in formational lullabies sung in a weight-controlled environment to two-hundred and fifteen pound elderly."
"Use no word that you wouldn't use in an outburst of emotion"- Ezra Pound. I like that advice, although maybe you don't.
There's just so much stuff added to this; to me, poetry is supposed to provide a form of transcendence or escape. This poem encumbers me. I think I have an above-average vocabulary, but I had to look up "hypnagogic". Why not something a little more simple?

"Lucubrating to steak and fork in three-hundred and sixty five hours,
rules to touch and never kiss."
Lucubrating to steak and fork. What? Who talks like that?

The uxorious man crawls his way to Bristol, humping the ground like a snake or slug.
Is "uxorious" needed? Slug works, but does a snake really "hump" the ground?

Goldfish cutting holes in screwdrivers and wires and a man's tie to secure his demise.
and and and. If I were sitting in a restaurant and asked for a serving of "imagery", you would be shoving it down my throat until my lungs fill with silk bras and my stomach leaks cigarettes. Please cut it down a bit.

Goldfish look too innocent to be held accountable.
It doesn't mean we shouldn't be held accountable.
Annnnddddd we're goldfish. I'd rather see a "they" than a "we" at this point, but it's not my poem.
I like these two lines. Unfortunately, it doesn't matter at this point.


I hope I didn't sound harsh; I am always honest when I critique, and I expect the same from everyone else.
Do not strive to be "cryptic". You may be ambiguous or mysterious, but there's a difference between ambiguity that draws in, and ambiguity that repels.

The last line of every Stanza makes up a stanza of it's own about a shower incident recently.

The empire state building was an analogy for the washing machine I was sitting on.

He's sprawled, drawing on Gabriel's thighs with a lit cigarette. - Okay, so I'm watching a friend showering and he has scars up his arms where as an angsty teenager he used to burn his arms with a cigarette.
Catalysts of war shot to womb impregnating covered, weighty ebony-stars. - This is about the anger he used when glaring at me with his heavy almost-black eyes.
Sarkozy-styled suits drenched in a "hardcore"-teenager's four percentage alcoholic consumption - After seeing his scars I thought about my over-flirtatious youth of thinking 4% alcohol was hard and 24 year olds were healthy for a 14 year old to be dating.
and he wastes time in the shower. - An honest, clean cut observation.

Perched on the empire state building, kicking legs - the nobody's child. - I'm sat on the washing machine which, because my legs can't touch the ground, feels so high and surreal watching what I am, I thought about the one other place I'd want to be. Nobody's child as he stopped paying attention, his eyes were closed and he was just shampooing his hair like I wasn't there.
As tail-coated transvestites march against tail-coated bureaucrats to hunch over tables with effortless-breathing fantasy. - It's the internal war between wanting to do such taboo things to a friend. My breathing's steady yet my mind feels like chaos.
Owls wearing cone-heads and silk bras, their intellect hidden in cracked feathers - I looked down at my skirt and I am really quite intelligent, I don't need to do that to be worthy of him.
and she nervously watches. - Honestly what I did whilst hiding behind my sleeve.

Standard photographs, ring-marked and photoshopped, for lockets divided between wife and mistress. - He wasn't single at the time.
Hypnagogic joy in formational lullabies sung in a weight-controlled environment to two-hundred and fifteen pound elderly. - I felt huge in comparison to the girlfriend and while I could listen to him sing in the shower and I could share a moment with him I was still going to feel like the overweight friend that wasn't enough.
Lucubrating to steak and fork in three-hundred and sixty five hours, - He left me a year ago and we've been friends since then, me the whole time lusting after him.
rules to touch and never kiss. - He's with someone.

The uxorious man crawls his way to Bristol, humping the ground like a snake or slug. - He goes to see his girlfriend at university in Bristol the next morning.
Goldfish cutting holes in screwdrivers and wires and a man's tie to secure his demise. - I kept taking socks out of his bag and his car keys and hid the sat nav so he didn't have to leave.
Goldfish look too innocent to be held accountable. - A friend looks too innocent to do such a thing.
It doesn't mean we shouldn't be held accountable. - for the entire shower thing.

Hope this clears it up, I'm not changing it in the slightest - it was exactly what I intended it to be but thank you so much for your opinions. They weren't harsh they were your opinions.