The Machine

[crow]

-----the machine

You try for what feels right. / But what feels good? / You are trying.

Eyelids

You could close your book and eyes.
Count ten twice.
The flashing lights might stop then—
then, they might stop.

They won't.

You could run into a field of corn.
You would hear the crisp snap of the leaves shattering upon your advance.
You would smell dust.
You would get tiny, itchy cuts.
It would feel still and uncomfortable, and
you would be self-conscious because even though running into a corn field seems natural, and maybe even wholesome, 
it isn't done, 
and the rattling sound betrays you,
and there are corn snakes,
if there are corn snakes.

You could stop mid-stride and echo-locate the road fifty feet away.
You could stop mid-stride, and huff and pant, wondering at yourself for this queer election.
Maybe you are powerful that way.
You could whistle loudly.
You could whistle quietly.
You could be a soundless animal.

You could pretend to be mad in a public place.
You could stare at the thing you're worrying about.
You could masturbate in a gas station bathroom.
You could wash off with pink soap.
You could ask permission first and, after hearing no, cause distress by going into the bathroom anyway, for normal reasons.

You won't.

You could cry out in pain. You could do it whenever you decide it would help.

You won't.

You could refuse to continue to not be on the roof of anything—your car, your house, a crayon rendering of your house.

You could drink water in the shadow you have made.

You won't. 

You could ask irrelevant questions to the pretty girl until she ceases to be joyful. You could hate yourself, then.
You could carry yourself through Minyards as if in no past life were you ever once a slave.
You could practice holding eye contact, 
how to hold an orange, 
how to hold this orange.

You won't. 

You could find someone to love.
You could stop phoning it in
all the time, all the time, all the time, all the time, all the time, all the time, all the time . . .
You could make yourself open to being wounded.

You won't.

Over and over.

You won't. 

You'll continue not to have past lives, or important secrets, or the ability to wink charmingly.
You'll have this life. This one.

And you will try not to blink when they come for you.

It will not matter.

You will blink. 

You are not allowed to say what you are thinking.

[audio:  https://dl.dropbox.com/s/xupfp2p5yc8v7vz...e.m4a?dl=1]

[crow]

Some of y'all know I've been working on this one for a while, and now that it's at the place it's at, I'm starting to think it's about a werewolf. Yes, really. Is that a direction I should pursue? So, then, the thing you're worried about would be a mirror? Maybe? The pretty girl would be red riding hood? The titular machine is the moon? 

Just a thought. I dunno . . .

[ellajam]

Hi, crow, I haven't listened yet but I remember this, here are some notes.

-----the machine

You try for what feels right. / But what feels good? / You are trying.

Eyelids

You could close your book and eyes. I'm missing the point of the above, I start here.
Count ten twice.
The flashing lights might stop then—
then, they might stop.

They won't. I've already got desperation, good.

You could run into a field of corn.
You would hear the crisp snap of the leaves shattering upon your advance. I remeber this line, that is a good thing, I like it.
You would smell dust.
You would get tiny, itchy cuts.
It would feel still and uncomfortable, and Not a fan of the first "and".
you would be self-conscious because even though running into a corn field seems natural, and maybe even wholesome, 
it isn't done, 
and the rattling sound betrays you,
and there are corn snakes,
if there are corn snakes. These five lines are fine with me, I like the paranoia vs the wholesome.

You could stop mid-stride and echo-locate the road fifty feet away.
You could stop mid-stride, and huff and pant, wondering at yourself for this queer election. I haven't figured out the queer election.
Maybe you are powerful that way.
You could whistle loudly.
You could whistle quietly.
You could be a soundless animal. Even not getting queer election I like these four lines, they capture the crazy.

You could pretend to be mad in a public place.
You could stare at the thing you're worrying about.
You could masturbate in a gas station bathroom.
You could wash off with pink soap.
You could ask permission first and, after hearing no, cause distress by going into the bathroom anyway, for normal reasons. I'm not sure about "for normal reasons", I like the rest.

You won't.

You could cry out in pain. You could do it whenever you decide it would help. Do you need the second it?

You won't.

You could refuse to continue to not be on the roof of anything—your car, your house, a crayon rendering of your house. I remember and love this line.

You could drink water in the shadow you have made. Meh on this, I don't really get it yet even though it sounds nice.

You won't. 

You could ask irrelevant questions to the pretty girl until she ceases to be joyful. You could hate yourself, then. Again, love this line, it rings of truth about the effects on the people around us.
You could carry yourself through Minyards as if in no past life were you ever once a slave. Meh on this line, maybe ok as that feeling of not being comfortable in one's station in life but it just doesn't move me.
You could practice holding eye contact, 
how to hold an orange, 
how to hold this orange. Very much like these three lines.

You won't. 

You could find someone to love.
You could stop phoning it in
all the time, all the time, all the time, all the time, all the time, all the time, all the time . . .
You could make yourself open to being wounded.

You won't.

Over and over.

You won't. 
The seven lines above don't add anything for me, IMO you've already said it and better.

You'll continue not to have past lives, or important secrets, or the ability to wink charmingly. Again, remember and love this line.
You'll have this life. This one.

And you will try not to blink when they come for you.

It will not matter.

You will blink. 

You are not allowed to say what you are thinking. I think you could end on the line above.

[audio:  https://dl.dropbox.com/s/xupfp2p5yc8v7vz...e.m4a?dl=1]

I hope this helps in some way.

[crow]

Hi, crow, I haven't listened yet but I remember this, here are some notes.

-----the machine

You try for what feels right. / But what feels good? / You are trying.

Eyelids

You could close your book and eyes. I'm missing the point of the above, I start here.
--It was experimental. If I can't make it meaningful, I'll cut. Good eye.
Count ten twice.
The flashing lights might stop then—
then, they might stop.

They won't. I've already got desperation, good.

You could run into a field of corn.
You would hear the crisp snap of the leaves shattering upon your advance. I remeber this line, that is a good thing, I like it.
You would smell dust.
You would get tiny, itchy cuts.
It would feel still and uncomfortable, and Not a fan of the first "and".
--agreed.
you would be self-conscious because even though running into a corn field seems natural, and maybe even wholesome, 
it isn't done, 
and the rattling sound betrays you,
and there are corn snakes,
if there are corn snakes. These five lines are fine with me, I like the paranoia vs the wholesome.

You could stop mid-stride and echo-locate the road fifty feet away.
You could stop mid-stride, and huff and pant, wondering at yourself for this queer election. I haven't figured out the queer election.
--it's the higher executive function distancing itself from the bestial. I'll find a better embodiment. I think the word "queer" is unnecessarily problematic. A word meaning "not like yourself" would be much better,  or that would mean "a choice you wouldn't ordinarily make."
Maybe you are powerful that way.
You could whistle loudly.
You could whistle quietly.
You could be a soundless animal. Even not getting queer election I like these four lines, they capture the crazy.

You could pretend to be mad in a public place.
You could stare at the thing you're worrying about.
You could masturbate in a gas station bathroom.
You could wash off with pink soap.
You could ask permission first and, after hearing no, cause distress by going into the bathroom anyway, for normal reasons. I'm not sure about "for normal reasons", I like the rest.
--it's a joking line. hmm . . . "Normal reasons" means basically "to urinate" as opposed to the other function associated with our private parts.

You won't.

You could cry out in pain. You could do it whenever you decide it would help. Do you need the second it?
-- . . . yes? This is the only place I'm grousy. I'll ditch this line and rewrite it from scratch. Lmk if I duff it again.

You won't.

You could refuse to continue to not be on the roof of anything—your car, your house, a crayon rendering of your house. I remember and love this line.

You could drink water in the shadow you have made. Meh on this, I don't really get it yet even though it sounds nice.
--it's a ref to an Aesop's fable. It's an artifact from an earlier draft that needs to be cut.

You won't. 

You could ask irrelevant questions to the pretty girl until she ceases to be joyful. You could hate yourself, then. Again, love this line, it rings of truth about the effects on the people around us.
You could carry yourself through Minyards as if in no past life were you ever once a slave. Meh on this line, maybe ok as that feeling of not being comfortable in one's station in life but it just 
doesn't move me.
--will change to "enslaved." good catch
You could practice holding eye contact, 
how to hold an orange, 
how to hold this orange. Very much like these three lines.

You won't. 

You could find someone to love.
You could stop phoning it in
all the time, all the time, all the time, all the time, all the time, all the time, all the time . . .
You could make yourself open to being wounded.

You won't.

Over and over.

You won't. 
The seven lines above don't add anything for me, IMO you've already said it and better.
--this is at the root of my issue w this poem. I'm not sure if it needs a "thesis" stanza. Any thoughts, from whomever, would be much appreciated.

You'll continue not to have past lives, or important secrets, or the ability to wink charmingly. Again, remember and love this line.
You'll have this life. This one.

And you will try not to blink when they come for you.

It will not matter.

You will blink. 

You are not allowed to say what you are thinking. I think you could end on the line above.

[audio:  https://dl.dropbox.com/s/xupfp2p5yc8v7vz...e.m4a?dl=1]

I hope this helps in some way.

--very much so

[billy]

on first reading it feels okay but after a few more reads it starts to show a fair bit of wear and tear. it should if possible improve wit each read. while the audio works well enough, it does so because it's audio. [if a slam piece then fine] the text doesn't fair so well.
it starts off as a fairy tale kind of big bad wolf poem and then at the middle changes into a help the mentally disturbed poem. which in and off itself isn't too bad a thing. it just feels like some metaphors are being twisted. the repetition becomes boring to the eye, though maybe not so much to the ears. visually i have a retinal burn of

"you won't"
and
'you could'

it stings the eye and i wonder if you can find another way to add punch enough to force home the points you make.
on the face of it you have lot's of work to do, in reality you basically need to shave the wolf and connect the psychiatry to the story.
the audio version probably needs a lot fewer tweaks to work better. on this point i's suggest pitting audio poetry in misc and just the text here, asone can have a detrimental influence on the other.
i didn't hate it, in fact i liked it at it's core. it just felt like it cast too wide a net

-----the machine

You try for what feels right. / But what feels good? / You are trying. it reads like we're skipping into the middle of something without a safety line

Eyelids

You could close your book and eyes. a suggestion would be be; [you could close them and your books]
Count ten twice.
The flashing lights might stop then— what flash lights, often we need an intro unless something is expected.
then, they might stop. i do like the break on [then]. but have too little info as to why

They won't.

You could run into a field of corn.
You would hear the crisp snap of the leaves shattering upon your advance.
You would smell dust. a suggestion would be [taste] instead of smell
You would get tiny, itchy cuts. the triple use of you would worked the read but no diminishes in strength.
It would feel still and uncomfortable, and so fat i think uncomfortable is a given and possibly redundant
you would be self-conscious because even though [;]running into a corn field seems natural, and maybe even wholesome, 
it isn't done, what isn't?
and the rattling sound betrays you,
and there are corn snakes,
if there are corn snakes. i really like this line, it's that carry on adults use to scare kids shitless

You could stop mid-stride and echo-locate the road fifty feet away.
You could stop mid-stride, and huff and pant, wondering at yourself for this queer election. you have commas, would it hurt to use them as line breaks. it's obvious you want a rushed line but sometimes the build up adds more suspense, i feel like i'm now in fable land and the title has just become a serious anchor that adds nothing but dead weight.
Maybe you are powerful that way.
You could whistle loudly.
You could whistle quietly.
You could be a soundless animal.

You could pretend to be mad in a public place. are there public places in the woods?
You could stare at the thing you're worrying about.
You could masturbate in a gas station bathroom. that sounds like a good though out of character thought,
You could wash off with pink soap.
You could ask permission first and, after hearing no, cause distress by going into the bathroom anyway, for normal reasons. for me this stanza is all filler while i like some of the lines i can't reconcile them to what i perceive the poem to be about. okay he could salivate over or about his food but why have a wank?

You won't.

You could cry out in pain. You could do it whenever you decide it would help.

You won't.

You could refuse to continue to not be on the roof of anything—your car, your house, a crayon rendering of your house.

You could drink water in the shadow you have made.

You won't. 

You could ask irrelevant questions to the pretty girl until she ceases to be joyful. You could hate yourself, then.
You could carry yourself through Minyards as if in no past life were you ever once a slave.
You could practice holding eye contact, 
how to hold an orange, 
how to hold this orange.

You won't. 

You could find someone to love.
You could stop phoning it in
all the time, all the time, all the time, all the time, all the time, all the time, all the time . . .
You could make yourself open to being wounded.

You won't.

Over and over.

You won't. 

You'll continue not to have past lives, or important secrets, or the ability to wink charmingly.
You'll have this life. This one.

And you will try not to blink when they come for you.

It will not matter.

You will blink. 

You are not allowed to say what you are thinking.

[audio:  https://dl.dropbox.com/s/xupfp2p5yc8v7vz...e.m4a?dl=1]

[crow]

and there are corn snakes,
if there are corn snakes. i really like this line, it's that carry on adults use to scare kids shitless

 i feel like i'm now in fable land ***and the title has just become a serious anchor that adds nothing but dead weight.***
Maybe you are powerful that way.
You could whistle loudly.
You could whistle quietly.
You could be a soundless animal.

You could pretend to be mad in a public place. are there public places in the woods?
You could stare at the thing you're worrying about.
You could masturbate in a gas station bathroom. that sounds like a good though out of character thought,
You could wash off with pink soap.
You could ask permission first and, after hearing no, cause distress by going into the bathroom anyway, for normal reasons. for me this stanza is all filler while i like some of the lines i can't reconcile them to what i perceive the poem to be about. okay he could salivate over or about his food but why have a wank?

[/quote]

This is exactly what I needed to hear. Thank you immensely. This thing is fighting with itself, trying to be two poems. One is about fable land, the other is about "the machine". 

I could probably harmonize the conflated ideas, but I'm guessing the easier approach would be to pull the two poems apart. I'll see which works better.

I'd welcome more thoughts and insight, but there's a lot between billy and ellajam to piece through, so no need for more—I'll read and appreciate any and all feedback—Just . . . yeah

[love apollon]

-----the machine

You try for what feels right. / But what feels good? / You are trying.

Eyelids

You could close your book and eyes.
Count ten twice.
The flashing lights might stop then—
then, they might stop.

They won't.

You could run into a field of corn.
You would hear the crisp snap of the leaves shattering upon your advance.
You would smell dust.
You would get tiny, itchy cuts.
It would feel still and uncomfortable, and
you would be self-conscious because even though running 
into a corn field seems natural, and maybe even wholesome, 
it isn't done, 
and the rattling sound betrays you,
and there are corn snakes,
if there are corn snakes.

---The imagery you're creating here is very vivid and affective. However after reading the entire poem twice over I greatly
want to suggest to you to reduce your "you woulds" and "you coulds" as others have suggested. 
Something like "You could run into a field of corn, hear the crisp snap of the leaves shattering upon your advance.
Smell the dust, collecting tiny, itchy cuts. You could stop mid stride and echo-locate the road fifty feet away, huffing
and panting, wondering at yourself for this queer election. Maybe you are powerful that way. Whistling loudly, quietly, 
a soundless animal." 
Not to completely butcher and regurgitate your writing but peppering in the "you woulds" and "you coulds" is less daunting to the 
reader's eye.

You could stop mid-stride and echo-locate the road fifty feet away.
You could stop mid-stride, and huff and pant, wondering at yourself for this queer election.
Maybe you are powerful that way.
You could whistle loudly.
You could whistle quietly.
You could be a soundless animal.

The below stanza is strong but my "you coulds" suggestion still applies. A very strong depiction of madness and confusion. 

You could pretend to be mad in a public place.
You could stare at the thing you're worrying about.
You could masturbate in a gas station bathroom.
You could wash off with pink soap.
You could ask permission first and, after hearing no, cause distress by going into the bathroom anyway, for normal reasons.

****
---I think the section here *asterisk to asterisk* could be condensed again for the aforementioned sake. Reduce the visual
Assault and drive the impact of your story telling with sharp and exact execution. 
You won't.

You could cry out in pain. You could do it whenever you decide it would help.

You won't.

You could refuse to continue to not be on the roof of anything—your car, your house, a crayon rendering of your house.

You could drink water in the shadow you have made.

You won't. 

****

You could ask irrelevant questions to the pretty girl until she ceases to be joyful. You could hate yourself, then.  
You could carry yourself through Minyards as if in no past life were you ever once a slave.
You could practice holding eye contact, 
how to hold an orange, 
how to hold this orange. ---love this. 

You won't. 

---what is the reasoning for the "all the time" repetition. is this solely for the purpose of spoken interpretation?

You could find someone to love.
You could stop phoning it in
all the time, all the time, all the time, all the time, all the time, all the time, all the time . . . 
You could make yourself open to being wounded.

You won't.

Over and over. ---I think you made this clear in your "all the time" repetition. or maybe i missed something. 

You won't. 

You'll continue not to have past lives, or important secrets, or the ability to wink charmingly.
You'll have this life. This one.

And you will try not to blink when they come for you.

It will not matter.

You will blink. 

You are not allowed to say what you are thinking.  

[audio:  https://dl.dropbox.com/s/xupfp2p5yc8v7vz...e.m4a?dl=1]

I really do enjoy this poem's content but some of the wording is an issue and I touched on that in the line by line critique i provided. 
I always like to share my personal interpretation of someone's writing when it tends to have an air of vagueness about it. I read this
as someone struggling with presenting them self in public whilst struggling with a mental illness or visible behavioral disability. I wouldn't
say that this is too far off of someone trying to hang onto their humanity in the throws of lycanthropy. I'm interested in seeing you further
Develop this write.

[RiverNotch]

-----the machine

You try for what feels right. / But what feels good? / You are trying. Don't get the slashes. Why not just break the lines?

Eyelids Not entirely sure if the title works for me -- would think this would be a better one.

You could close your book and eyes. Would prefer more continuity with your sentence breaks as written. This could be a comma,
Count ten twice. this a colon,
The flashing lights might stop then—
then, they might stop. and the then here feels kinda redundant, a turnaround that's unnecessary.

They won't.

You could run into a field of corn.
You would hear the crisp snap of the leaves shattering upon your advance.
You would smell dust.
You would get tiny, itchy cuts. I find the slow, stilted thought rhythm of these four lines inappropriate; perhaps change up the periods? And perhaps a colon here, at the end.
It would feel still and uncomfortable, and The placement of the and at the end of this line is plainly awful.
you would be self-conscious because even though running into a corn field seems natural, and maybe even wholesome,
it isn't done, I love the clean turn in the rhythm here, from the last long line.
and the rattling sound betrays you,
and there are corn snakes,
if there are corn snakes. I feel your reading of these five lines are a bit too slow, especially with the commas.

You could stop mid-stride and echo-locate the road fifty feet away. Echolocate is one word, and it's also a bit detracting, being so advanced a thought compared to all else.
You could stop mid-stride, and huff and pant, wondering at yourself for this queer election. Election? Also, colon.
Maybe you are powerful that way. Question mark?
You could whistle loudly.
You could whistle quietly.
You could be a soundless animal. With the last stanza in mind, I feel an "even" is needed here. And perhaps commas instead of periods.

You could pretend to be mad in a public place.
You could stare at the thing you're worrying about. 
You could masturbate in a gas station bathroom.
You could wash off with pink soap.
You could ask permission first and, after hearing no, cause distress by going into the bathroom anyway, for normal reasons. "For normal reasons" is very unnecessary.

You won't.

You could cry out in pain. You could do it whenever you decide it would help.

You won't.

You could refuse to continue to not be on the roof of anything—your car, your house, a crayon rendering of your house. The crayon rendering here is an unnecessary image, I think.

You could drink water in the shadow you have made. This shouldn't be a separate stanza. If so done, the earlier could end with an em dash.

You won't. 

You could ask irrelevant questions to the pretty girl until she ceases to be joyful. You could hate yourself, then.
You could carry yourself through Minyards as if in no past life were you ever once a slave.
You could practice holding eye contact, 
how to hold an orange, 
how to hold this orange. I love it when oranges -- well, any well-used food item, really -- shows up in poetry. These four lines are good, though I'm not sure if the specificity of "Minyards" is appropriate for this poem; so far, I don't think I've really caught any strong specifics.

You won't. 

You could find someone to love.
You could stop phoning it in
all the time, all the time, all the time, all the time, all the time, all the time, all the time . . . And I hate it when things repeat for too long.
You could make yourself open to being wounded.

You won't.

Over and over.

You won't. 

You'll continue not to have past lives, or important secrets, or the ability to wink charmingly.
You'll have this life. This one. Comma between "life" and the second "this"; comma between this line and the next.

And you will try not to blink when they come for you.

It will not matter.

You will blink. 

You are not allowed to say what you are thinking. This feels like a lead into some early-on aborted item (probably related to the title, whose relationship to the whole poem I never really got). Either remove, or replace and develop.

The repetition isn't my main problem here; soundwise, it's good rhythm. But thoughtwise, the breaks between the repeats, the usage of the period over the comma damages the poem's thought-rhythm integrity, for me. I didn't get as much from all this as I'd have hoped for: intellectually, I agree with Billy that the poem doesn't seem as witty as it could be, though the plays with the imagery and the ideas are enough for this to be satisfying; emotionally and experientially, I just didn't get it much, but I'll try and read this a few more times to see if that's really so. And for the audio, I dunno, it feels a bit slow -- but I've only listened up to the masturbation scene.

[audio:  https://dl.dropbox.com/s/xupfp2p5yc8v7vz...e.m4a?dl=1]