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In a junkyard of dawn’s dreaming
next to a ziggurat of glass bottles
dilettantes sit on milk crates
sipping tepid lattes. They speak
in whispers, not to be overheard
by the spies in the bottles.
Recording their sermons in an alphabet
of my own invention, I carry them home,
memorize the lines and repeat them
as I encounter another day’s self-deceptions
until dusk’s slow dismantling
releases me and night makes me
invisible again.
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Threads: 139
Joined: Jun 2015
Hey Tim-
Some comments, below:
In the wasteland of dawn
dilettantes meet for coffee
sitting on cracked milk crates
sipping tepid lattes, served
by a silent plague doctor. OK. Discussing the slient male plague: E.D. But "doctor" seems misplaced here
They speak only in whispers. In a confession, wouldn't it be "we"
The stenographer transcribes Like wise "stenographer". These characters add nothing to this piece
their sincerely worried opinions To stay confessional "their" should be "our"
into a language not yet spoken. Speaking in whispers is spoken language, maybe "language not spoken out loud"
I will carry the transcript home,
memorize the relevant lines
so I can repeat them to myself
as I walk through the deceptions
of another day until dusk
releases me from impotence "releases" doesn't work here
and night makes me invisible You could end it right here
to my collected disappointments.
I don't think the "doctor" or "stenographer" add anything: it could just be that notes are taken during the meeting.
I don't get "dusk releases me from impotence"
This one can be easily tightened up. Thanks for making your confession,
Mark
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Mark,
Your interpretation convinced me to do a revision. Thanks for the read.
Tim
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Oh no!
I liked the plague doctor as an inside 2020/21 reference. Not so much now that it’s been made obvious.
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Hey Tim-
I really like the revision. In-line comments, below:
In a junkyard of dawn’s dreaming
next to a zigurrat of glass bottles
dilettantes sit on cracked milk crates
sipping tepid lattes served by a waiter
costumed as a plague doctor. They speak I'd still kill the DR
in whispers, not to be overheard
by the spies in the bottles.
The stenographer, a junkie from Amarillo, Still don't need the stenograher
transcribes their sullen sermons into an alphabet "scrawls" ?
of her own invention. I will carry it home, turn on "it" ?
memorize the relentless lines and repeat them
as I read a day’s deceptions from faceless aviators "of the day's deceptions" ? "aviators" ??
until dusk’s slow dismantling releases me turn on "dismantling" ?
and night makes me invisible again. turn on "me" ?
Those are my two cents. Hope they make sense.
Mark
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Joined: Jan 2021
Thanks Mark!
I will give it a shot without the Dr or the stenographer….
and the new line breaks.
thanks for the read, Tim
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(10-26-2021, 12:17 AM)TranquillityBase Wrote: Revised.
Hey Tim-
I really like this revision. Made some comments, below:
In a junkyard of dawn’s dreaming
next to a ziggurat of glass bottles
dilettantes sit on milk crates
sipping tepid lattes. They speak
in whispers, not to be overheard
(by the spies in the bottles.
) Added ( ) to imply secrecy
Recording their sermons in an alphabet
of my own invention, I carry them home,
I tripped at these lines: sorta odd sentence structure. Also, I don't think "sermons" really fits in this piece. Maybe "rants"
memorize the lines and repeat them
as I encounter another day’s deceptions
until dusk’s slow dismantling
releases me and night makes me
invisible again.
Maybe:
I took notes in an alphabet
of my own invention. When I get home
I'll try to decipher the lines
If "they" are "dilettantes" (ie possibly pompous?), then why memorize what they say?
as I encounter another day’s deceptions
until dusk’s slow dismantling
releases me and night makes me
invisible again.
I don't know that the title is working anymore, because you don't seem to confess anything within this piece, while "they" or the "dilettantes" may. That the confession is vague is fine with me, though.
Anywho, enough for now.
Mark
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.
Hi TqB,
improving with each revision (though the title doesn't seem quite as firmly attached now as it did for v.1)
I rather liked the 'collected disappointments' of the original.
Is there a compelling reason for 'a junkyard' rather than 'the junkyard'? It's just that it jars a bit with the 'a ziggurat' (or could just be me.)
Also, struggling to make the leap from 'dilettantes ... speaking' to 'sermons'
I think there's a 'twitchier' voice to be found here.
In a junkyard of dawn’s dreaming, behind to a ziggurat of glass bottles
dilettantes sit on upturned milk crates sipping tepid lattes, speaking
in whispers. There are spies in the bottles. I record their sermons
in an alphabet of my own devising, carry them home, memorizing lines
and repeating each as I encounter another day’s deceptions til dusk’s
slow dismantling releases me from my collected disappointments
and night makes me invisible again.
Best, Knot
.
