1. Autumn, and with it the dead fruit bloody with the life of yesterday, spilled over, awake through the leaves, the apples, the fallen piecemeal, people strolling through the yellow memories of childhood; sepia toned against the decayed umber shadows in their complacency. The raw earth, through tones of yellow, red and bone harvest speaks of flesh and the closing rhythm of the sun; staccato of the moon. The air pleads for ice.
2. The young man stands on street corner concrete dreams coercing the pale earth of his heart; aquamarine desert at sunrise. The scabs of the city writhe, scrape by with the blaring of car horn, muffler spoke and wheel; everyone moving. The moon and the ancestral star stare down wide-eyed over the neon emblazoned night; his heart is weeping, peeled back, horn shredded his own hands owning the scraping tool. Concrete dreams covering the pale earth of his heart; ocean over the desert at sunrise.
Just, wow. Wow, man.
I was floored by this one. I had to reread it several times to let it soak in. I felt physically contorted by the imagery in this…
This is no-holds barred emotional kickboxing… I feel worked over…
Wow.
Rereading it for the 5th time… I like the unconventional structure– the use of semicolons… I think it adds to the effect. I felt like this one was unrelenting and that might be part of it. There are few breaks and it just keeps coming. I almost wonder how the feeling would change if it were more traditionally punctuated or separated on lines…
I think we should all think about publishing a collection once we’ve filled this site up. There’s already been some amazing writing.
Watch your heads mutha f*as!
I love the line “the air pleads for ice” as the closing sentence for part one. The imagery and color used throughout that section leaves me with impressions of an over-ripe, swollen, stagnant thick autumn air feeling. Air which has absorbed all it can and is ready for a new beginning. That’s what struck me anyway. Nice work all around. This really is great writing.