Nude Shell

[fluorescent.43]

Third revision (finalish?--who knows):

citrus scents the wet air;
water drifts down the small of my back,
glides across the curve of my thigh.

nothing will remove the blood
running down my calf,
fanning out in the water
like a cut orchid. the redness
propagates across the veneer of my eye.

it won't stop.

you're dirty, sick.
...an anomaly.

i touch my breasts,
coldly.

[[note: scrapped the train metaphor... is this one slightly better? or should i just scrap the metaphor altogether? i added a line below the second stanza... i like the line itself, but i'm worried that it disrupts the intended brevity or clarity or flow or whatever you call it.]]

Second revision:

citrus scents the wet air;
water drifts down the small of my back,
glides across the curve of my thigh.

nothing will remove the blood
running down my calf
like a train headed for hell,
searching for a
murky breath of immortality.

it won't stop.

you're dirty, sick.
...an anomaly.

i touch my breasts,
coldly.

First revision:

citrus scents the wet air;
water drifts down the small of my back,
glides across the curve of my thigh.

nothing will remove the blood
running down my calf
like a train headed for the sun,
searching for a
breath of immortality. 

you're dirty, sick.
...an anomaly.

i touch my breasts,
coldly.

that's right.
a... fucking monster.

[[note: should i expand on the last two stanzas?]]

Original:

citrus scents the wet air;
water drifts down the small of my back,
the curve of my thigh.

nothing will remove the blood
running down my calf
like a train wreck
headed for wide-eyed glory.

you’re dirty, sick.
…an anomaly.

i touch my breasts,
coldly.

that’s right.
i’m a fucking monster!

[zeichnicht]

citrus scents the wet air;
water pools in the small of my back,
the curve of my thigh.

nothing will remove the blood
running down my calf
like a train wreck
headed for wide-eyed glory.

you’re dirty, sick.
…an anomaly.

i touch my breasts,
coldly.

that’s right.
i’m a fucking monster!

ooh, I like - dark and loaded

What is the reason for not having capital letters?

I think you got me back for making your head spin with my poem I posted, I had to read this a few times over before I got it - really courageous write, not really something a man would understand if my interpretation is correct, although this poem could be interpreted in a few ways and can be a bit dualistic, which I like. Some really loaded words, well stringed together and not overtly obvious. I will try to crit it but I think it may be semantics - your style is really clean and to the point.

Strip
citrus scents the wet air;
water pools in the small of my back, In the context of the poem it seems that you are standing, so "pools" doesn't make sense, I get what you are saying though, but only after reading a few times
the curve of my thigh.

nothing will remove the blood
running down my calf
like a train wreck
headed for wide-eyed glory.I think you can go deeper than this, the best part of the stanza is the imagery about the blood running down your calf and the evocative emotion attached to it. I get what you are saying but the whole concept though of not being able to wash off blood, the phrases "like a train wreck" and "wide eyed glory" are a bit cliché, when put together even more so. I have read some of your commentary and I think you can do much better, you have the skill and imagination to do so. Rest of the poem is perfect. The missing caps do bother me though

you’re dirty, sick.
…an anomaly.

i touch my breasts,
coldly.

that’s right.
i’m a fucking monster! Fuck yeah!

[billy]

hi 43 the only thing that needs to be addressed are the cliché's my other comments can be worked on but the clichés drag down what is, could be a really good write.  

citrus scents the wet air; a good opener that sets the picture of humidity, love the smell
water pools in the small of my back, pools feels like an odd word use unless you have , this and the next line are also a bit cliche. coalesces would be a suggestion instead of pools which would help with the image and the cliche.
the curve of my thigh. a suggest to change the cliche then [rides the curve of my thighs]

nothing will remove the blood normally wrists are slit so i'm going with period. which makes a refreshing change
running down my calf
like a train wreck again watch out for cliche
headed for wide-eyed glory.

you’re dirty, sick.
…an anomaly.  for me this is where the feeling and emotion begin. it would have be good to see a couple of the cliché's work this well

i touch my breasts,
coldly.

that’s right.
i’m a fucking monster! while it works i think without the I'm there's extra layers to be seen.

[Wjames]

citrus scents the wet air;  As Billy said, really nice introduction.
water pools in the small of my back,  I can't really imagine water pooling in someone's back unless they're lying face down. That doesn't really work if they're (presumably) stripping. At least, that's what the title immediately makes me think about when I hear about the small of someone's back.
the curve of my thigh.

nothing will remove the blood
running down my calf
like a train wreck
headed for wide-eyed glory. Yes, blood running down the calf makes me think about someone having their period. Is that the "water" in your back and thigh above as well, or was that just water or sweat or something?

you’re dirty, sick.
…an anomaly.

i touch my breasts,
coldly.

that’s right.
i’m a fucking monster! The "jokiness" (for lack of a better term) seems sort of out of place with the rest of the poem (to me).

Before the final two lines, I thought it might be about a girl getting changed in gym class or something while having her period. The last two (or maybe four) lines made me think of someone having sex while on their period. I think you might be able to find a stronger title to further build upon your idea too.

[fluorescent.43]

thanks to zeichnicht, billy, and wjames for giving this some much-needed critique! to zeichnicht: thanks for getting me back. i've changed the word "pools" as everyone seems to think it makes no sense (i guess it doesn't). as for the missing caps... i don't know, it feels more natural to me than capitalizing the beginning of each line or sentence. it's just how i write. to billy: i can never seem to find the clichés in my work. i guess that's what the pig pen is for. to wjames: the jokiness you mentioned at the end was supposed to be sort of a bitter sarcasm- the poem is about a woman coming into her own (basically puberty). thanks for the critique, all!- i've posted an edit; hopefully it's a bit better!

[Mark A Becker]

Hello fluorescent-
Hmmmm??...


citrus scents the wet air; good start
water drifts down the small of my back, does water really drift?  doesn't work for me
glides across the curve of my thigh. can't have it both ways with the water, which has gone from drifting to gliding.  Does water really glide? Things glide on it

nothing will remove the blood OK, you got my attention back
running down my calf
like a train headed for the sun,very odd metaphor comparing blood to a train, especially one headed for the sun
searching for a  
breath of immortality. If I read this stanza as one sentence, I understand it as blood searching for a breath, and that metaphor crashes my train of thought.  The blood transforms from a train to a breath? Really?


you're dirty, sick.
...an anomaly.

i touch my breasts,
coldly.

that's right.
a... fucking monster. the f-bomb may seem like a big punch for an ending, but it strikes me as more of a cop-out. F***ing is so f***ing over-used these f***ing days that it has lost all  its f***ing power.

While you start the poem with a concise image, you seem determined to drive it toward obscurity.  You wind up as a monster without really showing me how you got there.  

Your poem reminds me of one by Lucille Clifton, "Wishes for Sons": QUOTE" i wish them one week early, and wearing a white skirt." END QUOTE  

No f-bomb needed. Simple language works.

Good luck with this one,
... Mark

[Todd]

Well I missed commenting on the first draft, even though I had read it a few times, so I'll comment on the revision.

So, lets see title change. Strip Vs. Nude Shell. The first is a command or a verb. Taking off your clothes or stripping away layers. The second has Nude which implies female as guys tend to get naked as their word. Shell implies that something is growing inside. It might suggest emptiness or potential. Since I took the blood on first read to be menstruation, I think I like the title change. It also is the more evocative choice and fits the tone a bit better.

First revision:

citrus scents the wet air;--I like that you start with something sensory both with the citrus and the wetness of the air.
water drifts down the small of my back,
glides across the curve of my thigh.--I'm a bit conflicted, while I like the slow sensuality of the word choices when I get to the next line and hear that nothing will remove the blood, I get the feeling that the speaker is trying to remove the blood and the water in these above lines seems to be moving too slow for that. If that makes sense.

nothing will remove the blood
running down my calf--This is a great line to place the subject otherwise our view is too broad.
like a train headed for the sun,--Better than the wreck and good phrasing, but I'm having trouble with your imagery. The blood is clearing the train because it is motion down the track (of the calf) the sun would maybe be the drain in this image at the bottom of a shower. I have a hard time with it because I don't usually imagine the sun down below me. A tunnel, falling into an impossibly long crevice, maybe. Your phrasing is really good I just don't know if sun fits your image.
searching for a
breath of immortality.--Again cool phrasing and idea, unless you can tie the puffing of a  locomotive into this breath though it sort of falls apart for me. Maybe a different word than searching and a little more work extending the train imagery.

you're dirty, sick.
...an anomaly.

i touch my breasts,
coldly.

that's right.
a... fucking monster.--I started a discussion thread once on using fuck in poetry. I don't have an issue with it. It can be done well (i.e., Larkin) so my comments have nothing to do with your word choice here. I simply think your poem would end better on coldly.

[[note: should i expand on the last two stanzas?]]

Original:

citrus scents the wet air;
water drifts down the small of my back,
the curve of my thigh.

nothing will remove the blood
running down my calf
like a train wreck
headed for wide-eyed glory.

you’re dirty, sick.
…an anomaly.

i touch my breasts,
coldly.

that’s right.
i’m a fucking monster!

I like how you're developing this. Hope some of the comments helped.

Thanks,

Todd

[fluorescent.43]

thanks to Todd for a great critique. the second edit is up... i think i addressed most of the issues raised in all of your comments: the usage of fuck, a confusing train metaphor, water not being able to do two things at once (i decided to keep this as is), etc. i do think this is weighted a bit more in the beginning... thanks to Mark for alerting me to the fact that i delved into a bit of obscurity at the end. hopefully i've clarified it...? thanks, all!

[tectak]

Second revision:

citrus scents the wet air;
water drifts down the small of my back,
glides across the curve of my thigh.

nothing will remove the blood
running down my calf
like a train headed for hell,
searching for a
murky breath of immortality.

it won't stop.

you're dirty, sick.
...an anomaly.

i touch my breasts,
coldly.

First revision:

citrus scents the wet air;
water drifts down the small of my back,
glides across the curve of my thigh.

nothing will remove the blood
running down my calf
like a train headed for the sun,
searching for a
breath of immortality. 

you're dirty, sick.
...an anomaly.

i touch my breasts,
coldly.

that's right.
a... fucking monster.

[[note: should i expand on the last two stanzas?]]

Original:

citrus scents the wet air;
water drifts down the small of my back,
the curve of my thigh.

nothing will remove the blood
running down my calf
like a train wreck
headed for wide-eyed glory.

you’re dirty, sick.
…an anomaly.

i touch my breasts,
coldly.

that’s right.
i’m a fucking monster!

Hi fluo,
This has had some attention and by your own revision/explanation becomes clear. In a very real sense I like everything in the piece but am a little out on an ethical limb regarding my thoughts on your thoughts. Like most, male or female, the pubescent pulse beats a little faster during transition. Thoughts are, to say the least, a little gonadocentric if male and downright dastardly if female. I KNOW this to be true as my memory is intact and I have to say that your superb injections of irrationality are convincingly stereo-typical...so what is my problem. Well, sticking to the poetry, this "irrationality" works supremely in the italicised outbursts, and the last line, could, perhaps, stand the same treatment...it is irrationality as a considered item. Where things are not so perfectly contrived is in the metaphorical language...sorry, I should say the "intentional" similes.
The piece is, frankly, good enough to gloss over the "...like a train wreck heading for wide-eyed glory" BUT to leave this line as it is to do you a disservice. Apart from the uncertainty of what the line "means" in a simplistic  --that is to say in a strictly informative-- sense, the idea of a train wreck (hard, spiky, metallic, sharp, deformed, bent, broken, deconstructed, destroyed, useless, beyond repair, etc) "heading" anywhere is surely a thought not far enough. It does not work either as a carrier of information or as an aid to understanding what you are trying to say. Once you have an image that you like (the train wreck) it is sometimes difficult to avoid hanging those parts of the poem in close proximity on to the thing, hoping that some of the shine will illuminate other words. So what you end up with is that good old dramatic word "blood" being likened to a runaway train "wreck". Some error here, surely.
Nonetheless, this is a very good piece of what I am sure is veracity verse...it is true, I am sure, for you and for many others; that is the currency of poetry in this style. Well done.
Best,
tectak
( The significance of not capitalising "i" is eternally lost on me. Language usually changes for the better and so I wait to see if  not capitalising ANYTHING has merit. I doubt it, so for me it is a pointless contrivance which irritates and so takes away from the piece. Is it worth the cliche of "stylistic individuality"?)

[fluorescent.43]

Thanks Tectak for the helpful-as-ever critique (I searched up 'gonadocentric'--even Google is confused ). I don't know why I capitalize nothing in my poems... I've always done it that way, for some reason. Hopefully I'm not pulling the English language down because of my awful habits. Either way... the third revision is up... hopefully it improves on the second, however marginally.

[tectak]

Third revision (finalish?--who knows):

citrus scents the wet air;
water drifts down the small of my back,
glides across the curve of my thigh.

nothing will remove the blood
running down my calf,
fanning out in the water
like a cut orchid. the redness
propagates across the veneer of my eye.

it won't stop.

you're dirty, sick.
...an anomaly.

i touch my breasts,
coldly.

[[note: scrapped the train metaphor... is this one slightly better? or should i just scrap the metaphor altogether? i added a line below the second stanza... i like the line itself, but i'm worried that it disrupts the intended brevity or clarity or flow or whatever you call it.]]
More yes than no to this although the "propagates across the veneer" is wildly untranslatable; it sounds as if it should be clearer than it is...rather like "gonadocentric", in that I know what it means and assume others do, too.( Google will divulge, believe me, I checked). You really must find out how to use capital letters. All written work should use whatever devices are available to make the thing ring.Good egg.
Best,
tectak
Second revision:

citrus scents the wet air;
water drifts down the small of my back,
glides across the curve of my thigh.

nothing will remove the blood
running down my calf
like a train headed for hell,
searching for a
murky breath of immortality.

it won't stop.

you're dirty, sick.
...an anomaly.

i touch my breasts,
coldly.

First revision:

citrus scents the wet air;
water drifts down the small of my back,
glides across the curve of my thigh.

nothing will remove the blood
running down my calf
like a train headed for the sun,
searching for a
breath of immortality. 

you're dirty, sick.
...an anomaly.

i touch my breasts,
coldly.

that's right.
a... fucking monster.

[[note: should i expand on the last two stanzas?]]

Original:

citrus scents the wet air;
water drifts down the small of my back,
the curve of my thigh.

nothing will remove the blood
running down my calf
like a train wreck
headed for wide-eyed glory.

you’re dirty, sick.
…an anomaly.

i touch my breasts,
coldly.

that’s right.
i’m a fucking monster!