Prayer to the Id Ego

Miss Understood, get this?
Like, he took that girl to our place
and let me disappear from his
poetry?  Whatever.

Down canyons to deepest sea level, get
the high to forge bonds to skin, to skin, &
imagine that there's no heaven, brother, right?
But there are, on this earth, better places than
memory, like after dark and wasted dreams --
all get better w/ want.

Miss World, take pills, take me, take that,
I can't fathom his eyes after these years (okay,
months) seeing blonde.  Should i dye my hair
to be aesthetically pleasing?  Oh, Jesus Christ.

Television to brain waves, it's all a
conspiracy.  The brain wants to take over
all functions, the crying, and doesn't realize
his hand is on everything.  Is it free will or
pre-manufactured destiny?  And what's that
noise?  Ooh, Dawson's Creek.

Miss Communication, I lied.  I want my mother,
my father, the Holy Ghost to listen.  No son
will learn to let his hair down far enough to climb
outside the tower like I can.  I've heard the Bible
would make a great soap opera.  Sacriligious?
They never had that word in the spelling bee.

Crystal Hunkin's Questions:

- What do you think the poem is about; or what's the spin on the words?

- Where can any of the poem be tightened up?

- Anything that makes no sense, or seem excessive?

- Is the imagery too abstract?

- Any suggestions on a better title?

Down on This

for an eastbound train,
soliloquys are easy, tumbling
words against words to
break my heart.  for every
boy, there's been a landslide
w/ the good girl facade on,
racing up the hill to beat
Jack & Jill & the Joneses.
Break this down, if you can,
into internal bloodlust, because
i'm tired of sleeping alone
in my room.  Remember what
the little boy said, right?
There is no spoon.

Crystal Hunkin's Questions:

- What do you think the poem is about; or what's the spin on the words?

- Where can any of the poem be tightened up?

- Anything that makes no sense, or seem excessive?

- Is the imagery too abstract?

- Any suggestions on a better title?

Spin

To an early i'm sorry, break
down to the end of the word,
four letters means sorrow.
Beat this rhythm, pulsing down
wires into memory (synapse,
synapse).  Permanent scars tell
lies on tanned skin, early
warning to contact.  Bouncing
around the room, phrases to 
impact, choose words carefully
to fit yr. tongue instead of
twisting tongue to words.
Remember this -- speaking only
in the cliche realm hides
your connection to your words.

Crystal Hunkin's Questions:

- What do you think the poem is about; or what's the spin on the words?

- Where can any of the poem be tightened up?

- Anything that makes no sense, or seem excessive?

- Is the imagery too abstract?

- Any suggestions on a better title?