|(LU) FINGERS IN
SEVEN ROSE HOLES IN MY FACE
STYX'S FINGERS UP MY NOSE
20 Jan 05
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oh. interesting. interesting things here. nice interpretation and reuse of words.
kinda wish there was a word spare for the last rose to be rosy.
otherwise i like the meter, rhythm and rhyme in this. can't say i get much out of the words as read, but this is a case where the strength maybe lies elsewhere. the commonplace is the real strong word here. i like the concept that you say something not neccessarily clear or obvious but get me to accept it as commonplace anyway.
thought provoking. thank you.
this is gnormalish, i must say.
the word play of seven and styx
the holes in face (after which, i counted the holes in my face).
i like this a lot
it's a good kind of whimsey.. i like. gnoramal? I hope that's yours ... I I know is that I am a g-abnomal.. and find magic in every poem.. all have something. This has more -mystery- than most LU entries. I like. good show, old shoe whoever you are.
god damn you have good poetic instincts, gnormal.
i wonder what inspired this one, it feels like you woke up and almost got hit by a bus on the way to work or something.
white noise i picked up: finger sin, styx as the river of hate
still pointing towards a close encounter with death('s fingers in you)?
can i have your brain?
anything to stop the blasphemy!
it just started with that odd known/unknown feeling of being alive you can get now and then walking home. i like to get it as often as possible. here we are walking around on the ground. our heads work some special way. we diddle up buildings with nothing but our primary tools- fingers. all this is clear. in my face. except for the meaningofitall part. so i had the first line.
then i had to make it 12 words.
there are seven holes in your face if you count. they are pink inside. everyone has them.
styx (not the band) flows and divides living from non. or something like that. as sure as we live we die. that river has got a nasty rude grip on us. and it smells. folks smell roses too, which are also used at funerals.
inasmuch as we dont know if we're alive, or the nature of our life (could just a be an interesting phenomenon) we equally cant be said to know what alive or not around us. maybe everything is alive, alive as a rose. everything grows.
everything could be just as much a rose (a live growing thing) as we are. if we die, it's all still here. everything.
when you are put in the ground, all else, relatively speaking, rises around you.
finally, flowers will sprout up out of your rose-holes.
to be honest i forgot why i called it fingers in. though im sure i wanted the benefit of the finger sin.
its a weird wild whorled world.
i can't believe i didn't get the seven holes in my face.
i'm quite enamoured of explanations once things have calmed down.
they're rarely given and precious for it.
I have to put this in my faves. many props to your work.
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