Racist in NOLA Seeks AA Sponsor Maybe More

[Blackleaf]

David Hennessy and the Jelly Roll Morton

Ain’t them coffins saints
For them who swing, rope as a
Breath light on the neck
Sweet and brief, hot piccolo

Laying on wagon after wagon.
Life root and branch but
Second-line soulfully
Two stepping potholes!

Dance to coax swaying flesh with
All those hats and umbrellas
handkerchief in the road- didn't he ramble-
Them spokes humming like jazz,

Nothing but them french and
Brass blowing a kiss goodnight.
Lips running bone dry as
Them horns blaring out!

Procession marching six feet
Below lilies- eyes glassy
As lover’s eyes- Music hung
from the heavens for all to see..

[Blackleaf]

LepidOpterist

She was publishing sentences
and the gold you could get
all ears

fixed on you. O,

The catharsis of the cottage ceiling, high windows cascading into angles and prisms-
starting at the toes,
collapsed into and wiggles,

writhing wild with happy
in the chrysalis
we were- when we were so young the hardwood and the space-O-
heater made every fraction of pressure between us a lifetime and nothing else

but winged- how lucky, O-

we would lay and stare at eggshell
white of my room from the mattress. She was frOzen
like ancient insects written in amber- O,

She would cocoon inside herself, all but her toes, a ripple-
milliseconds- sO ******** beautiful.
Fixed on you,
crisp and effortlessly, infinitely sOlid- O
Her eyes never closed, O-

Petrified feelers, O-

Even when the ink orgasmed sO- it was that mOment
when every piece ceased O-

sO eternally,
O-sO eternally,
eternally happy even

As we wrOte up the Obituary-
fixed a pin thrOugh the thOrax Of
It all.

[Blackleaf]

fisher price and eat them too

i have two dollhouses in my backyard and neither want
to treat me like a toy.

the mother wouldn't take me out for a good ********
in the bog though it was something in
the end. you could feel her want it

and i never went in the basement to see, not once.

the father was work and the money was thinner
than the gravy to fed the plastic heads, such that

we'd drink up the swamp water.

when hard time comes you can always cut their hair.
-he would say things-
they don't move, they pose. loosen joints.

rubber-band waist sockets and a lifetime to play with.
You have a real head on your shoulders.

[Onion]

Blackleaf

LepidOpterist

She was publishing sentences
and the gold you could get
all ears

fixed on you. O,

The catharsis of the cottage ceiling, high windows cascading into angles and prisms-
starting at the toes,
collapsed into and wiggles,

writhing wild with happy
in the chrysalis
we were- when we were so young the hardwood and the space-O-
heater made every fraction of pressure between us a lifetime and nothing else

but winged- how lucky, O-

we would lay and stare at eggshell
white of my room from the mattress. She was frOzen
like ancient insects written in amber- O,

She would cocoon inside herself, all but her toes, a ripple-
milliseconds- sO ******** beautiful.
Fixed on you,
crisp and effortlessly, infinitely sOlid- O
Her eyes never closed, O-

Petrified feelers, O-

Even when the ink orgasmed sO- it was that mOment
when every piece ceased O-

sO eternally,
O-sO eternally,
eternally happy even

As we wrOte up the Obituary-
fixed a pin thrOugh the thOrax Of
It all.

i like the idea behind this! i wish it had something more for being spoken, but that's my own desire, i'm not huge on hypermodernity, blah blah blah, here are some thoughts:

• goes from publishing sentences straight to bug imagery rather quickly, without a chance to figure out why. jarring.

• wiggles and collapsing is happily frantic but erratic. show me more about catharsis, i mean, i am just getting architecture?

• feel like the "ink orgasmed sO" is almost pedantically telling us why you're using the capital O's.

• "petrified feelers" seems like it's coming back to bugs all of a sudden, when all of the orgasm talk abandons it, and then it doesn't come up until that (second to-) last line, which punches sure enough, and is probably the best line of the whole piece, but i'm not sure the extended metaphor really carries the weight of what it's supposed to. like it almost feels like an afterthought. i tend to be pretty picky about extended metaphor--if you're gonna push it onto lines 3 4 5 and 7, why wait 'til line 19 to bring it back? numbers pulled out of my a**

• obituary? this sudden mention of death, if it's supposed to mirror the sudden end of an awesome sexual relationship, is kind of a "whoa wate wut" to the reader, like, i dunno, it changes _so suddenly_ where even if that's the whole point it is kinda like... hard to process in the span of so few words. but then again i espouse less is more, as a general rule. so. ******** if i know.

• just feels rough. in general. as with sculpture: unpolished, at best, and clunky/oddly-shaped, at worst.

[Blackleaf]

Onion

• just feels rough. in general. as with sculpture: unpolished, at best, and clunky/oddly-shaped, at worst.

Thanks for the feedback! it was violently helpful.

I'll make swift changes and repost.

I'd like to see more activity on this board, if you have anything you'd like me to look at you should-