Dope City Jailbreak

[fluorescent.43]

Another Edit...?

I wanna be a parasite marching across red-light districts,
protected by fluorescent umbrellas and atmosphere, love-inflicted.
I wanna disappear in a flurry of red traffic lights and get hung up
in Sunday-newspaper murders that shout lucid profanities
to the skies in searing daylight.

My head's trapped in a ferris wheel's neon parody,
my mouth's ejaculating wormy, mechanical blood
in place of the words that dissolve in gastric acid.
I swear it's not my fault it's the morphine so please,
forgive me

Can't you see that I just wanna leave? Disappear into the collective
conscience, crowd of undulating teenagers at a sweaty concert,
into a pollution-crowded city gasping to be alive?
I lie prostrate in front of you so please,
don't make me beg

I'm living in the future already (packed my bags a few years ago),
but the only thing I see is the past.
I criticize you for not seeing through my eyes
but I'm dead on this linoleum mausoleum floor anyways.

Forty three windows shuddering from forty two floors
towards a horde of immaculately groomed owlets in tuxedoes
riding neon pink clouds that elevator to the ninth circle of Hell,
sharing companies with the satan Himself.

Articulation exists only in corpses.

[]

Edit.

I wanna be a parasite trolling red-light districts
under fluorescent umbrellas and love-inflicted atmospheres.
I wanna disappear
in a snowflake flurry of traffic lights and get hung up
in Sunday-newspaper murders, shouting blurry profanities
to the skies in searing daylight.

My head's trapped in a Las Vegas ferris wheel, lit up by argon set
against a black hole. My mouth's disgorging
wormy, mechanical blood: a lighthouse guiding
prostitutes to their sandalwood-incensed brothels.

Can't you see that I just wanna go? Disappear into a crowd
of undulating teenagers at a sweaty concert;
into a pollution-crowded city gasping to be alive?-
-desperately alive.

I'm here and now, and I'm dead
on this linoleum-mausoleum floor.
Can't you see that?

[i]Forty three windows blinking from forty three floors
owlishly towards a horde of immaculately groomed
owlets in tuxedoes riding neon pink clouds that elevate
to the ninth circle of Hell, sharing company with
the satan Himself.

Articulation is for the blue-blood dead.

Original.

I wanna be a parasite trolling nightclubbing streets
under fluorescent umbrellas and
love-inflicted atmospheres. I wanna disappear
in a snowflake flurry of red lights and get hung up
in eloquently articulate murders, shouting blurry profanities
to the skies in searing daylight.

Head’s trapped in a las vegas ferris wheel, lit up by argon set
against a black hole. Mouth’s flapping
wormy, mechanical blood: a dirty lighthouse
guiding parasites and prostitutes to their
respective brothels.

Can’t you see that I just wanna go? Disappear into a crowd
of rippling teenagers at a sweaty concert;
into a pollution-crowded city gasping to be alive?—
—desperately alive.

I’m here and now, and I'm dead.
Can’t you see that?
—god!

Forty three windows blinking from forty three floors
owlishly towards a horde of immaculately groomed
owlets in tuxedoes riding neon pink clouds that elevate
to the ninth circle of hell, sharing company with the
satan Himself.

Articulation is for the blue-blood dead.

[[this has already been edited from the sprawling, messy original. hopefully it's more poetry-like. personally, i like this, but please rip it apart because i'm obviously biased. also, i used capitals! who's proud of me? i still prefer no capitals, though. ]][/i]

[sunilmathur]

As I went through the first stanza, I found it intensely readable, though dealing with an eerie subject. However, I found the expression 'snowflake flurry' somewhat verbose as 'flurry' by itself would do quite well. Moreover, the metaphor doesn't seem quite appropriate in the context of red lights--- snowflakes denoting beauty, red lights alarm; snowflakes being abundant, which the red lights would not be. I could not quite make out what these red lights are supposed to denote--whether traffic signals, police vans or something else. Again, the expression 'eloquently articulate' seems to be verbose as the word 'eloquently' could be omitted.
As we come to the second stanza, things become slightly confusing. What is it you are describing in the first three lines? Is it the way the 'eloquently articulate' murders would be committed? If so, the apostrophe used in 'heads' and 'mouths' only confuses the meaning. Also, I am not sure whether 'flapping blood' is an apt expression. In the third line of this second stanza, after a colon begins the reference to a 'dirty lighthouse guiding parasites and prostitutes to their respective brothels'. This seems to be a description of the criminal himself and does not appear to have any logical connection with what was said immediately before, so as to justify the use of the colon. The use of 'respective' appears to be superfluous.
Fourth stanza: "I'm here and now, and I'm dead". What is this supposed to mean?
The next stanza appears to be equally vague. To me it seemed like a search for the criminal by the police in a multi-storyed building, but that may not be what you mean. And then the last line: "Articulation is for the blue-blood dead". What I could make out was that it is the death of the blue-blooded that results in noises being made.

[tectak]

Hi fluo,
There is a wealth of imagery in this and I am loathe to, and in fact cautious of, suggesting changes. I will explain the caution. You write first person because angsty, ranty poems have an unequivocal veracity about them if the reader "believes" that the narrator IS the portrayed character. This is, of course, in Crit World...a no no. Nonetheless,it would appear that for the thing to work it is the belief in the character which matters...and I do and I don't. That is your fault. The linearity of the piece is broken almost line by line and that says two things. Firstly, the writer is thinking about what to say in a serial way. As ideas pop up they are incorporated into the mix like currants in a sticky dough. You get away with this ONLY because of the "ranty" nature of the piece...it is out of control; so I do and I don't like it. Secondly, the imagery is erudite, by that I mean successfully "wordy", but it does not fit with the perceived mental "angst" of the character...almost as though we were trying to follow the thought process of a stereo-typical schizophrenic with both personnas slugging it out for verbal dominance...so I do and I don't like it.
OK, contextual analysis over I revert to type...see in-line.  


I wanna be a parasite trolling nightclubbing streets The twisty"...trolling nightclubbing" rankles even when I read it in my head. I understand the description but the terminology is wonky..."nightclubbing streets" is an image open to comedic misconstruance. A bit like "golfing balls". "trolling the nightclub streets" is only just saving the line, but I admit it is opinion.  
under fluorescent umbrellas and To enjamb on "and" is precipitously bizarre. You have no real need to cause or imply or permit a pause here. The next line begins with a truly unexpected  triple. One is bound to ask what a love-inflicted atmosphere could be. The irony is not lost IF you (the character) want love to be seen as an infliction, but you give little reasoned argument as to why this should be either before or after the comment. This is the first break in the linearity of the piece. I find mysef looking for a hidden agenda which some may find enticing but I am not sure that such a secret is here, to be uncovered. I have read the piece several times so this is not a "serial" comment.
love-inflicted atmospheres. I wanna disappear I do, however, applaud the excellent connection of the two "I wanna be" lines. The metaphorical truth of the parasite wishing (and often by definition) to be hidden, or "disappear" is well contrived...so much so that if you deviate again from the core issue it will stand out like a candle on a slag-heap; and i just know you will.
in a snowflake flurry of red lights and get hung up Imagery pure and simple...yes, simple. I have no idea what YOU mean but I am certain of what I see when I read your words. That is enough for me.Envy
in eloquently articulate murders, shouting blurry profanities Now you have lost me. BANG. The whole thing has exploded in my face. Is it just the "eloquently articulate".
articulate
adjective
1) having or showing the ability to speak fluently and coherently.
2) having joints or jointed segments.

verb
1) pronounce (something) clearly and distinctly.
2) form a joint.

...maybe "articulated"? Though the grammar seems clearer the intent does not. Finishing the line with such a powerfully expressed conundrum does not help. I go back to where I began. The erudition is poetically fine, but the character becomes the author again. The serial currant pops in to the bun.


to the skies in searing daylight. from this point onwards I have to like another poem. Nothing wrong with that BUT is that the intent. If it is, then result. If it isn't then I believe you need to work some more on keeping the thing in one box. You have scattered pieces of scrabble all over the floor and made some fine words from them....but here comes your mother.....tidy this room up!

Head’s trapped in a las vegas ferris wheel, lit up by argon set Las Vegas...all or nothing is the call.Oh dear. No apostrophe on heads.
against a black hole. Mouth’s flapping Oh dear. No apostrophe on mouths
wormy, mechanical blood: a dirty lighthouse
guiding parasites and prostitutes to their repeat of parasite. Not a hanging offence
respective brothels.

Can’t you see that I just wanna go? Disappear into a crowd
of rippling teenagers at a sweaty concert;
into a pollution-crowded city gasping to be alive?— one dash is enough
—desperately alive.

I’m here and now, and I'm dead.
Can’t you see that?
—god! Far too petulant for the character, but in character for the writer. I rest my case.

Forty three windows blinking from forty three floors
owlishly towards a horde of immaculately groomed
owlets in tuxedoes riding neon pink clouds that elevate
to the ninth circle of hell, sharing company with the
satan Himself.

Articulation is for the blue-blood dead.


Seems to be a bit 60's LSD (though it isn't) towards the end...not a time for sensible articulation. Articulation? I have heard that before somewhere. Overall, I am envious of anyone's ability to paint from a pot of glutinously purposeful prose without even the slightest ripple in the surface that could indicate hidden meaning lurks below. My concern is that though I can easily write the words, I find it much easier to do so when not constrained by the urge to be understood by myself, or perish the thought, others. If you tell me that all of this means all of that, I will believe you...but I wish the poem was clearer.
Best,
tectak
Keep taking the capitals...and finish the course.

[[this has already been edited from the sprawling, messy original. hopefully it's more poetry-like. personally, i like this, but please rip it apart because i'm obviously biased. also, i used capitals! who's proud of me? i still prefer no capitals, though. ]]

[fluorescent.43]

As I went through the first stanza, I found it intensely readable, though dealing with an eerie subject. However, I found the expression 'snowflake flurry' somewhat verbose as 'flurry' by itself would do quite well. Moreover, the metaphor doesn't seem quite appropriate in the context of red lights--- snowflakes denoting beauty, red lights alarm; snowflakes being abundant, which the red lights would not be. I could not quite make out what these red lights are supposed to denote--whether traffic signals, police vans or something else. Again, the expression 'eloquently articulate' seems to be verbose as the word 'eloquently' could be omitted.
 As we come to the second stanza, things become slightly confusing. What is it you are describing in the first three lines? Is it the way the 'eloquently articulate' murders would be committed? If so, the apostrophe used in 'heads' and 'mouths' only confuses the meaning. Also, I am not sure whether 'flapping blood' is an apt expression. In the third line of this second stanza, after a colon begins the reference to a 'dirty lighthouse guiding parasites and prostitutes to their respective brothels'. This seems to be a description of the criminal himself and does not appear to have any logical connection with what was said immediately before, so as to justify the use of the colon. The use of 'respective' appears to be superfluous.
Fourth stanza: "I'm here and now, and I'm dead". What is this supposed to mean?
The next stanza appears to be equally vague. To me it seemed like a search for the criminal by the police in a multi-storyed building, but that may not be what you mean. And then the last line: "Articulation is for the blue-blood dead". What I could make out was that it is the death of the blue-blooded that results in noises being made.

thanks for the in-depth critique! you make some excellent suggestions that i'll definitely take you up on. i know this poem hasn't really come together as a whole yet, so see below for an explanation (i know poets shouldn't explain what they mean, but some of what i write is too awful and erudite to get).

Hi fluo,
There is a wealth of imagery in this and I am loathe to, and in fact cautious of, suggesting changes. I will explain the caution. You write first person because angsty, ranty poems have an unequivocal veracity about them if the reader "believes" that the narrator IS the portrayed character. This is, of course, in Crit World...a no no. Nonetheless,it would appear that for the thing to work it is the belief in the character which matters...and I do and I don't. That is your fault. The linearity of the piece is broken almost line by line and that says two things. Firstly, the writer is thinking about what to say in a serial way. As ideas pop up they are incorporated into the mix like currants in a sticky dough. You get away with this ONLY because of the "ranty" nature of the piece...it is out of control; so I do and I don't like it. Secondly, the imagery is erudite, by that I mean successfully "wordy", but it does not fit with the perceived mental "angst" of the character...almost as though we were trying to follow the thought process of a stereo-typical schizophrenic with both personnas slugging it out for verbal dominance...so I do and I don't like it.
OK, contextual analysis over I revert to type...see in-line.  


I wanna be a parasite trolling nightclubbing streets The twisty"...trolling nightclubbing" rankles even when I read it in my head. I understand the description but the terminology is wonky..."nightclubbing streets" is an image open to comedic misconstruance. A bit like "golfing balls". "trolling the nightclub streets" is only just saving the line, but I admit it is opinion.  
under fluorescent umbrellas and To enjamb on "and" is precipitously bizarre. You have no real need to cause or imply or permit a pause here. The next line begins with a truly unexpected  triple. One is bound to ask what a love-inflicted atmosphere could be. The irony is not lost IF you (the character) want love to be seen as an infliction, but you give little reasoned argument as to why this should be either before or after the comment. This is the first break in the linearity of the piece. I find mysef looking for a hidden agenda which some may find enticing but I am not sure that such a secret is here, to be uncovered. I have read the piece several times so this is not a "serial" comment.
love-inflicted atmospheres. I wanna disappear I do, however, applaud the excellent connection of the two "I wanna be" lines. The metaphorical truth of the parasite wishing (and often by definition) to be hidden, or "disappear" is well contrived...so much so that if you deviate again from the core issue it will stand out like a candle on a slag-heap; and i just know you will.
in a snowflake flurry of red lights and get hung up Imagery pure and simple...yes, simple. I have no idea what YOU mean but I am certain of what I see when I read your words. That is enough for me.Envy
in eloquently articulate murders, shouting blurry profanities Now you have lost me. BANG. The whole thing has exploded in my face. Is it just the "eloquently articulate".
articulate
adjective
1) having or showing the ability to speak fluently and coherently.
2) having joints or jointed segments.

verb
1) pronounce (something) clearly and distinctly.
2) form a joint.

...maybe "articulated"? Though the grammar seems clearer the intent does not. Finishing the line with such a powerfully expressed conundrum does not help. I go back to where I began. The erudition is poetically fine, but the character becomes the author again. The serial currant pops in to the bun.


to the skies in searing daylight. from this point onwards I have to like another poem. Nothing wrong with that BUT is that the intent. If it is, then result. If it isn't then I believe you need to work some more on keeping the thing in one box. You have scattered pieces of scrabble all over the floor and made some fine words from them....but here comes your mother.....tidy this room up!

Head’s trapped in a las vegas ferris wheel, lit up by argon set Las Vegas...all or nothing is the call.Oh dear. No apostrophe on heads.
against a black hole. Mouth’s flapping Oh dear. No apostrophe on mouths
wormy, mechanical blood: a dirty lighthouse
guiding parasites and prostitutes to their repeat of parasite. Not a hanging offence
respective brothels.

Can’t you see that I just wanna go? Disappear into a crowd
of rippling teenagers at a sweaty concert;
into a pollution-crowded city gasping to be alive?— one dash is enough
—desperately alive.

I’m here and now, and I'm dead.
Can’t you see that?
—god! Far too petulant for the character, but in character for the writer. I rest my case.

Forty three windows blinking from forty three floors
owlishly towards a horde of immaculately groomed
owlets in tuxedoes riding neon pink clouds that elevate
to the ninth circle of hell, sharing company with the
satan Himself.

Articulation is for the blue-blood dead.


Seems to be a bit 60's LSD (though it isn't) towards the end...not a time for sensible articulation. Articulation? I have heard that before somewhere. Overall, I am envious of anyone's ability to paint from a pot of glutinously purposeful prose without even the slightest ripple in the surface that could indicate hidden meaning lurks below. My concern is that though I can easily write the words, I find it much easier to do so when not constrained by the urge to be understood by myself, or perish the thought, others. If you tell me that all of this means all of that, I will believe you...but I wish the poem was clearer.
Best,
tectak
Keep taking the capitals...and finish the course.

[[this has already been edited from the sprawling, messy original. hopefully it's more poetry-like. personally, i like this, but please rip it apart because i'm obviously biased. also, i used capitals! who's proud of me? i still prefer no capitals, though. ]]

thanks Tectak for taking the time to go through this. it helped me a lot.

-when i wrote 'eloquently articulate', i meant the kind of murders that are high-profile and covered by those newspapers with the screaming headlines and in-depth, well-written analyses of the murderers or whatnot. i meant to romanticize the notion of murder, which in reality is the ugliest thing one could imagine, regardless of context. also, articulate was meant as an adjective.
--this started out as a personal poem. as a poet, should one never write personally? i know i struggle to separate my life from my writing sometimes, but i feel that as i let this sit for a few months and then edited it, i started creating a character (fine, a character very much like myself): a sheltered teenager wishing to experience the "dirty real world". that's the core of this poem, really.
--the second to last stanza was a prelude to the last line, an antithesis to articulation. the words themselves don't really mean a whole lot unless you take it as a whole, in context. i assumed blue-blood dead would be perceived as rich dead people (which the character is neither)...?

...and i just feel like i committed a major sin there by partially explaining myself. honestly, this was written a while ago so i feel like i'm examining a different person's work here while i edit. but anyways an edit will be up shortly, hopefully improving on the points both Tectak and sunilmathur mentioned.  

[tomoffing]

Hey fluorescent, 
Contextually, I enjoy this. Im not qualified to speak on the poet vs character conundrum, not knowing anything of why it should or shouldnt be allowed... But overall I think youve captured the scattered, manic angst ridden nature of the narrator quite well through the rapid fire succession of imagery (quite because its much better in some places than others, explained below).
Speaking of imagery, theres a lot to like here, but some specifics that irk me, or that are too surreal and thus interrupt the pacing.

I hope some of that makes sense. specific observations and opinions below.
Thanks for the read,

Having now critted below, and read your original, I must mention that the improvements are excellent. thank again
t

Edit.

I wanna be a parasite trolling red-light districts
under fluorescent umbrellas and love-inflicted atmospheres.  Can you be under an atmosphere or only surrounded by it. Im nitpicking
I wanna disappear
in a snowflake flurry of traffic lights and get hung up "snowflake flurry", redundancy. And a flurry of traffic lights... I struggle to see this. Also, Im drawn to conjure Las Vegas already here, which you later confirmed. Snow in las vegas... Rare at best.
in Sunday-newspaper murders, shouting blurry profanities
to the skies in searing daylight. 

On an overall note, i love the pace you set throughout this stanza. You really roll the reader through the expereince. Kudos.

My head's trapped in a Las Vegas ferris wheel, lit up by argon set the introduction of "trapped" here conflicts with the desire in the first 
against a black hole. My mouth's disgorging this line break really halts me. Read aloud its challenging, perhaps drop disgorging to the next so I can see the disgorged wormy blood all at the same time.
wormy, mechanical blood: a lighthouse guiding
prostitutes to their sandalwood-incensed brothels. Purely personal opinion, but Id love "brothels" to be something more immediate and intimate (if intimacy exists in such a situation ). what do I mean, a motel room perhaps, something that puts me right there with a prostitute

Can't you see that I just wanna go? Disappear into a crowd
of undulating teenagers at a sweaty concert; is the crowd undulating, or the teenagers? I can see both. Is the concert sweating? I'd prefer this to be an undulating crowd of sweaty teenagers at a concert. its more coherent.
into a pollution-crowded city gasping to be alive?- pollution cant crowd. repetition of crowd is awkward too. Something different, blanketed maybe.. no thats terrible, ill leave it in your more capable hands.
-desperately alive.


I'm here and now, and I'm dead
on this linoleum-mausoleum floor.
Can't you see that?

Forty three windows blinking from forty three floors
owlishly towards a horde of immaculately groomed problem for me here, owlishly is to far from blinking, and visually the two lines starting with owl are awkward. I would adjust.
owlets in tuxedoes riding neon pink clouds that elevate
to the ninth circle of Hell, sharing company with
the satan Himself.

Articulation is for the blue-blood dead.

Original.

I wanna be a parasite trolling nightclubbing streets
under fluorescent umbrellas and
love-inflicted atmospheres. I wanna disappear
in a snowflake flurry of red lights and get hung up
in eloquently articulate murders, shouting blurry profanities
to the skies in searing daylight.

Head’s trapped in a las vegas ferris wheel, lit up by argon set
against a black hole. Mouth’s flapping
wormy, mechanical blood: a dirty lighthouse
guiding parasites and prostitutes to their
respective brothels.

Can’t you see that I just wanna go? Disappear into a crowd
of rippling teenagers at a sweaty concert;
into a pollution-crowded city gasping to be alive?—
—desperately alive.

I’m here and now, and I'm dead.
Can’t you see that?
—god!

Forty three windows blinking from forty three floors
owlishly towards a horde of immaculately groomed
owlets in tuxedoes riding neon pink clouds that elevate
to the ninth circle of hell, sharing company with the
satan Himself.

Articulation is for the blue-blood dead.

[[this has already been edited from the sprawling, messy original. hopefully it's more poetry-like. personally, i like this, but please rip it apart because i'm obviously biased. also, i used capitals! who's proud of me? i still prefer no capitals, though. ]]

[fluorescent.43]

if anyone reads this, i know 'elevator' isn't a verb... it is now though. i feel like this sorely deserved an edit; the previous edits sounded like an annoyed elementary kid consulted a dictionary and decided to rant... not sure if it's better or worse now, but i'm happier with it (maybe?) . thanks to all who decided to crit

[tectak]

Another Edit...?Hi fluo,
A long time coming...doesn't mean big changes but subtlety WILL do. A line by line only this time. You have convinced me you love the piece so I will not disavow you. Here goes.

I wanna be a parasite marching across red-light districts, I do not object to the moden parlance...ever. Is "wanna", though, cerebral enough for the piece? I feel it does the character an injustice. You will see why later
protected by fluorescent umbrellas and atmosphere, love-inflicted. I cannot get the juice out of this meat. What is "love-inflicted"? The protection, the fluorescent umbrella...or neither? If "love inflicted" IS stand-alone, then make it so. A comma is not enough to separate the thought
I wanna disappear in a flurry of red traffic lights and get hung up
in Sunday-newspaper murders that shout lucid profanities
to the skies in searing daylight. OK . It is a long sentence. That "and" is the problem. You have TWO wants. One...to disappear. Two..to get hung up. They are arguably (and sensbly) mutually exclusive. Make it so.

My head's trapped in a ferris wheel's neon parody, This where the"wanna" talk becomes pervasive. You have no meter that I can discern so why "head's" when you could say "head is"? Let "ferris wheel" be the descriptor then "ferris wheel neon parody" reads easier. Who's mouth...why, your's, of course. So no need for "my" and the very awkward "mouth's"..." My head is trapped in a ferris wheel neon parody,
mouth ejaculating wormy, mechanical blood..."
my mouth's ejaculating wormy, mechanical blood
in place of the words that dissolve in gastric acid. To be frank, this gets too thick too soon. Some of the meaning is lost in the sound of the words. Sound is good but it should not drown out meaning. Just read it to your milkman and see if he gets it.
I swear it's not my fault it's the morphine so please, commafter morphine otherwise it is unclear in meaning. Is it not your fault it's the morphine's fault, or is it not your fault that the morphine is faulty? Harrumph.Comma after morphine for me but you my prefer comma after morphine.
forgive me period

Can't you see that I just wanna leave? Disappear into the collective
conscience, crowd of undulating teenagers at a sweaty concert, oops. Something wrong here. "crowd" is disconnected by grammar/syntax. Read it out loud. Sweaty concert or sweaty teenagers?
into a pollution-crowded city gasping to be alive? Way too crowded. Find another word. What is crowded pollution anyway?
I lie prostrate in front of you so please,
don't make me beg That would be interesting anatomically...but I am letting my imagination run. I know what you mean but do not feel that lying prostrate signifies anything regarding subservience or submissiveness or hierarchy. I lie prostrate in bed...and go to sleep

I'm living in the future already (packed my bags a few years ago), So are we all if we write anything in the past....and the present is SO fleeting. Not sure what this is trying to say that isn't patently bleedin' obvious. I would loose this line. It is pseudo-profound which is not profound at all
but the only thing I see is the past.
I criticize you for not seeing through my eyes
but I'm dead on this linoleum mausoleum floor anyways. This is an unconditional "but". How does "but" depend?

Forty three windows shuddering from forty two floors
towards a horde of immaculately groomed owlets in tuxedoes Hord. I cannot envisage shuddering towards anything...but as the rest of this piece disappears into its own syntactical crevice I am left bemused but unamused. Capitals all over the place and misplaced, words given new catagorisation for the sake of...what? Companies/companys may be a pun but I have lost confidence in your drug-free condition what with neon pink clouds and the definitive but lower case Satan...err...upper case himself. Whaaaa?
riding neon pink clouds that elevator to the ninth circle of Hell,
sharing companies with the satan Himself.

Articulation exists only in corpses. Or, if you want an alternative closing line " The dead are only stiffs for a while" ...and the point is?

As last time, there is some worthy thinking in this but the concept is much smaller than the piece justifies. I think you are padding it out and don't know it.
Best,
tectak

[]

Edit.

I wanna be a parasite trolling red-light districts
under fluorescent umbrellas and love-inflicted atmospheres.
I wanna disappear
in a snowflake flurry of traffic lights and get hung up
in Sunday-newspaper murders, shouting blurry profanities
to the skies in searing daylight.

My head's trapped in a Las Vegas ferris wheel, lit up by argon set
against a black hole. My mouth's disgorging
wormy, mechanical blood: a lighthouse guiding
prostitutes to their sandalwood-incensed brothels.

Can't you see that I just wanna go? Disappear into a crowd
of undulating teenagers at a sweaty concert;
into a pollution-crowded city gasping to be alive?-
-desperately alive.

I'm here and now, and I'm dead
on this linoleum-mausoleum floor.
Can't you see that?

[i]Forty three windows blinking from forty three floors
owlishly towards a horde of immaculately groomed
owlets in tuxedoes riding neon pink clouds that elevate
to the ninth circle of Hell, sharing company with
the satan Himself.

Articulation is for the blue-blood dead.

Original.

I wanna be a parasite trolling nightclubbing streets
under fluorescent umbrellas and
love-inflicted atmospheres. I wanna disappear
in a snowflake flurry of red lights and get hung up
in eloquently articulate murders, shouting blurry profanities
to the skies in searing daylight.

Head’s trapped in a las vegas ferris wheel, lit up by argon set
against a black hole. Mouth’s flapping
wormy, mechanical blood: a dirty lighthouse
guiding parasites and prostitutes to their
respective brothels.

Can’t you see that I just wanna go? Disappear into a crowd
of rippling teenagers at a sweaty concert;
into a pollution-crowded city gasping to be alive?—
—desperately alive.

I’m here and now, and I'm dead.
Can’t you see that?
—god!

Forty three windows blinking from forty three floors
owlishly towards a horde of immaculately groomed
owlets in tuxedoes riding neon pink clouds that elevate
to the ninth circle of hell, sharing company with the
satan Himself.

Articulation is for the blue-blood dead.

[[this has already been edited from the sprawling, messy original. hopefully it's more poetry-like. personally, i like this, but please rip it apart because i'm obviously biased. also, i used capitals! who's proud of me? i still prefer no capitals, though. ]][/i]

[Mattp]

fluorescent, hello! Just a quick thought on this one:

This may sound like an odd criticism, but I think this poem is over-run with artistry. You have so many wonderful images and word combinations - it really is a pleasure to read, but for the life of me I have no idea what this poem is about. I think you need to find some sort of heart in this thing and bring it to the forefront. I can see this poem being great.

By the way, your closing line is awesome.

Hope I've been helpful. Thanks for the read.

- Matt