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vampirina
Christian Ward
United Kingdom, Greater London, London

Words: 91
Access: Public
Comments: 10

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The Interior of Clouds

Someday I'll write you back,
answering your questions
with rain ink and a lightning
fork nib. The interior plans
of my skull will be laid bare
for you to inspect; to point
out each faultline, crack,
where it subsides. Walls
will be free to be graffitied
with your breath (you left words
inside my chest, remember)
I won't need a reply I might say
at the end, listening to a house
built in a disused corner
of my heart; your voice echoing
instructions on what needs
to be demolished.

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Comments  
TirzahLaughs Comment by: TirzahLaughs - 2007-12-09 08:37
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I love the image of 'rain ink'. Its an interesting approach to a disintergrating relationship. Where you feel like you are constantly under the microscope and coming up wanting. Its got a nice voice, sort of bitterly quiet yet angry.

Nice stuff.
rgreay Comment by: rgreay - 2007-11-20 21:29
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I enjoyed your poetry, especially this one. Your lines:
"Walls will be free to be graffitied
with your breath (you left words
inside my chest, remember)"
reminded me of the poet Jeffrey McDaniel's poem, Renovating the Womb, where he writes "I enjoyed my time in the uterus, reading what the previous fetuses had written on your walls. That's how I learned to spell. That's how I came out speaking."
Anyone whose writing reminds me of some of my favorite poets is, in turn, a favorite poet of mine.
A poet must write poetry. It's as necessary as breathing for others. We wonder what a cloud is thinking. We see shadows played across the road from cows and know that they have meaning. We know that poetry was being invented inside the womb in the fontanels covering our creativity or being played in an adams apple of a young Seamus.
Thank you for reading my work and thank you for writing.
precar Comment by: precar - 2007-11-18 09:14
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"your voice echoing
instructions on what needs
to be demolished"

That's a great closing.
Jam1son33 Comment by: Jam1son33 - 2007-11-17 16:36
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We are all clouds waiting to combust. As precipitation builds, we long to release our negative energy and empty our tears. A strong meaning is present in this poem. When all heart is gone, we remain hollow, a gaseous spirit floating through endless sky. You have managed to capture emotion in a very unique way and it has been fluffed with imaginative sequence. It flows beautifully, much like a cloud with no particular destination. Excellent.
drgnflygrl Comment by: drgnflygrl - 2007-11-16 08:56
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I completely agree with aprilmayed. Something about this poem is touching and sharp at the same time. Bookmarked!
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By vampirina

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