Wednesday, March 19, 2014

No, I don't hate you

Although the way I keep assaulting you with bad poetry makes it seem so.

In our list of attributes of the pale poetry of CathyBlogs, we neglected to mention, too persistent. But we write with you in mind -- and by you, I mean me, according to my site metrics. 

Anyway, we all know the importance of revision, whether it's for one reader, or one zillion. Good poem, or bad. So I keep picking at this one. Death by revision.

Death by Poetry (revised)

These aren't the words you wanted
when you asked that day, 
write something for me --
your warm words and low voice
cool eyes, duple heart, and
veiled, arrogant want.

Who was the enigma, then? 
Because there’s a word you
threw around, a thin, contumelious
compliment of manipulative design,
exposed by erosion, love’s labor lost --
Who were we kidding? Love. Lost.

These aren't the words you wanted,
my long-gone target, just
the hyperbolic bullets you deserve.

Let blood run through the leading,
and drip from every enjambment.
Bleed out, you gut-shot memory.

Weak weak weak. Ah, still needs work, but I'm starting to get frustrated. This one lives to get picked on another day. I still need to:

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