Loki Wyrd Posted April 11, 2005 Report Share Posted April 11, 2005 (edited) The sound of typewriter keys punched quickly as I read... line-by-line wading deeper. First, adjectives crash over my shoes-- red, swollen, a throbbing beat. Then verbs flail about my waist-- thrashing, bounding, splashing. Until, finally, nouns swallow me in doubt and solitude, urgency resounds. The typewriter plays no more: atrophic fingers perpetuated in a jar of formaldehyde. Edited April 12, 2005 by Loki Wyrd Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Lone Shadow Posted April 12, 2005 Report Share Posted April 12, 2005 Drowning in a sea of words, I think we all know what that’s like to experience. I liked the imagery you conveyed here. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
HappyBuddha Posted April 12, 2005 Report Share Posted April 12, 2005 I like this poem - the imagery, structure, and word choice are creative and generally work well. I'll comment more in-depth soon, but I wanted to go ahead and give you some well-deserved encouragement. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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