Scriblle Scribble Dot Dot Dot

​I've reached a point with this poem where I can't tell whether it's worth the revision. This edit feels much tighter, but did I drain all the emotion out of it? Those of you who read the first draft I posted, is this an improvement, or should I just say fuck all and tidy up the almost original version?

Your Body Sulfur Potential

You rolled my shoulders between your fingers
Like you were a prisoner
And I was the last cigarette before your execution

Purple contact lenses
The first streak of premature gray
Lips cracking Precioso

I never wanted you for your body
But this morning I picked up the fact of your ashes
Couldn't remember where to put them

Your memory my religion
Light reflecting off braces
The paper I gave her
Sulfur sweetbread

Your mother used to bake me sweetbread and call me Precioso
She didn't know you called me Precioso when I held you

Your body the paper I gave her
The promise of rebellion

Last night I kept a promise I couldn't make
Caught your reflection in your mother's eyes
Let it go
Told her she could keep the intangible concept of you
Locked in knicknacks and photographs
Straight
Obedient 
Silent
Her son who never loved me

Your mother never sweetbread
No longer Precioso with your last sulfur wish

You wanted to be burned to ink
Enough to fill every book on my shelf
But the body doesn't burn to liquid
So you became the paper we scribbled our names across

Ink sulfur rebellion

You always smelled like the potential of fire
Never combusting into catty comebacks
You took beatings because that was all some people had to give

Your body broken by mother

The last word she said to you was "faggot"
She knew you were destined for flames
Virus burning you from the inside
Her words a scorchmark on the bridge of your nose

Together we baked your faggot sulfur potential
Into sweetbread she couldn't swallow

You would not be buried
Between the father who beat you
And the mother you beat to the grave
No closed casket circus
For a God you no longer trusted
You survived just enough time
Made just enough will to make your last words clear
"Here Mama
If all I am to you is faggot
Then let me burn"

Rebellion I never wanted from your lips
Your memory sulfur knicknack

I couldn't remember the touch
Of your fingers my shoulder
Your lips my forehead
Couldn't swallow the promise
So I choked down your ashes with sweetbread tears
Hoping I could feel you when I touched myself

I never wanted to be your body Precioso
I wanted to be the cigarette you rolled between fingers
The light reflecting off your braces when you smiled
Current Mood:  between drafts
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 Leave a comment | 7 comments
Sun, Apr. 11th, 2004 09:04 pm (UTC)
kevinpattersonTough choice, they are both good. Helpful aren't I? Regardless what you decide don't take out these lines...

"You wanted to be burned to ink
Enough to fill every book on my shelf
But the body doesn't burn to liquid"

But I am sure you already knew that.
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Tue, Apr. 13th, 2004 10:05 am (UTC)
akamuuThat's actually where the poem started. Glad you like itNow I've got to figure out how to make it work.
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Mon, Apr. 12th, 2004 12:43 am (UTC)
anseliciousfor whatever reason, every re-write you make of this I find more appealing on paper, and less appealing spoken. my advice (which isn't worth much, since I've been stuck on line 5 of the piece I'm writing for about 3 hours now) is to incorporate most of the original for slams/etc, and most of the newest version for your next chapbook.
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Mon, Apr. 12th, 2004 03:12 am (UTC)
akamuu: The Value of Your AdviceI think you're spot-on. I hate that what I like best on paper is often unappealing spoken-word wise. Such is life.

I still haven't decided my plans for Wednesday night. I'm going to put it to fate. While I think being on a team with you, Simone, Eric, and The Ryk would be a great time with great writer/performers...probably more fulfilling than any non-Okoawo team I've been on, I'm loathe to give up on the LL.

Of course, I may not make the LL. Oz, Iyeoka (who I think qualified last night..I didn't go), Inphynite (aka Marlon Carey), Tranzit Thawt (aka Chris Johnson), Star, J*Me, and Morris have all qualified and have stated their intentions to slam for the team. Eric Darby and Delisile have also qualified, but claim not to be going out for the LL team. Morris is also leaning towards Worcester.

I'm tempted to go out for the second semis (I'm quaified for both) given that I've only lost two slams in the second half (one to Oz, the other to Eric), whereas I lost five in the first half (Star, Inphynite, Tranzit, Delisile, and J*Me).

I should let all the people who beat me duke it out for the 4 spots in the first semis, hoping they use their best work already (both Oz & I had to do this last year just to make finals), and then try and coast through the 2nd finals. What with Iyeoka and J*Me being unable to slam 6 of their best pieces (oh, how I love the no-repeat rule) this should give some advantage to those of us who couldn't make the team last year. Of course, I have no intentions of slamming the pieces I did last year, but I like the knowledge that I could use them, should the need arise.

So ends a long ram
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Mon, Apr. 12th, 2004 03:13 am (UTC)
akamuu: The Value of Your Advice Continuedbling response to your most recent two comments (so long, LJ had to splice it up).

Look, Mamma, I'm multi-tasking.
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Mon, Apr. 12th, 2004 04:29 am (UTC)
anselicious: Breaking the continuity of this threadIyeoka did in fact qualify last night. By a fluke of math and aided by your rampant string of victories, I also accidentally qualified for the second LL semi-final, despite coming in either 3rd or 4th. I'm not entirely sure how. Equally inexplicable to me was the fact that a poem I resurrected with minimal revision from when I was 16, outscored my supposedly newer and more refined material handily.
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Mon, Apr. 12th, 2004 05:21 am (UTC)
akamuu: Re: Breaking the continuity of this threadDespite my love of the Lizard Lounge scene, I never let how well a poem does in that venue affect what I perform anywhere else. There's nights I've seen Iyeoka be on fire and lose to an abonimal performance of shitty poem about how good the poet was. There are nights when I've tried to lose, and won handily over a more deserving competitor. There were also nights I felt I was performing my best pieces to the best of my potential and lost to someone who stuttered through a poem about how stars are really far away.

It's much easier to get a feel for how well people like your poetry at The Cantab. Provided there's an audience of more than three people for the slam.