SUBJECT>Re: short poem, long title POSTER>David Ayers EMAIL>ayersd@bellsouth.net DATE>1109009027 IP_ADDRESS>167.230.38.115 PASSWORD>aad8wJMWsCmq2 PREVIOUS>83599 NEXT> IMAGE> LINKNAME> LINKURL>

Jude, thanks. Good ideas for cleaning this up/making it more sensible.

I'll look for your poem; the title is certainly promising.

--D

: I definitely found this lyrical and haunting
: and beautiful. However, I'd like to see it
: more precise. For example, if she is in
: heaven, she would not just not come here
: often, she wouldn't come here at all would
: she? More thoughts within --- Jude

: Why happiness is a warm gun; or,
: there are no basements in New Orleans

: ((I like the title without the warm gun bit. ))

: She doesn't come here often, go away.
: She's in heaven. She's in the ice
: crisscrossed with stars. Today
: because the ceiling cracks,
: that's a part of her breaking
: in. I feel like a barometer. You may, too.

: (( 'because' the ceiling cracks seems
: imprecise. Could it be 'where' the ceiling
: cracks, or 'when' or ... I realize we are
: talking colloquialism here but I wish it
: were more logical ))

: She's not in the attic
: or in the cement. She's in heaven.
: She's in the ice
: crisscrossed with stars. There are lampposts;

: (( as with your previous poem, and now one that
: I have tried (see Hush) I enjoy these
: repeats. ))

: there are dark children.
: There are no basements.
: She broke a step coming up and saw chalk,
: debris, darling bulbs.
: She wanted to get out of there.

: She taught me this song.

: Know me your boy-arms to a flying horse
: Show me your good side without speaking first
: Go down the levee show me your hearse
: Your good side, your good side

: She went off on a beautiful train.
: I was on it with her, in my brain.

: (( loved these ending lines. A wonderful poem
: David, thank you ))