In a message dated 8/16/01 10:36:19 AM, [log in to unmask]
writes:
<< ETERNAL OPERA
Sepia in redmist, he reaches the far side; racket [like this opening
very much - the colors catch the reader's attention]
breaks out in the backneath; he farsees under shaded hand - nothing
to be anxious about.
"Got an aunt in Maine. She reads romances
and keeps tropical fish, but she aint got a fingerlength
of what's going on here; we're doing this to save her
from having to rake a life out of coffee grounds and peanuts - not
like these poor bastards, who aint got two shells to rub together and
[ain't?]
here we are, bombing the guts out of them - Agent Orange with a view -
and we're rubbing our arses on mangled roots, slitting skin [arses might
not be the word for this personna]
and strangling roosters with a blood red hand."
His
eyes are black [maybe don't need black coal?]
coal and the devil's shine; it's a fight to the last hangnail -
break and you're blasted - skinned to a corpse, but
you can't bow out, so play it, recite it, act it,
keep singing the eternal opera >> [I like the ending but don't quite
get the connection to rest of the poem - could be it's pre-dawn]
I feel this is on the edge of being a great poem.
kol tuv, Ryfkah
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