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Home and I know a place where a royal flush, can never beat a pair. Tom Waits you threw a fit because your video team is hitting .206, and is better than that. this is the dismal end of everything, the denouement of your malcontent. your wife pops in, like gas on gunpowder, lit. “what would our life be like if you gave a shit?” she says, with a pestle’s pointed wit. then it’s off to bed with your 10 year old, whose brother ghosted him – can’t sleep alone. who said life imitated art, or was even fair? home is a place for those who are never there. |
This Poem was Critiqued By: Marcia L McCaslin On Date: 2014-09-26 01:41:21
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 1.00000
This is you, giving us short (clever) clips into your thought processes. I like the speed and how you point the reader, here, then there, then over here. "Your wife pops in, like gas on gunpowder, lit." Wow, what a line THAT is. After I read that, I didn't care what came before it or after it.
But you've managed to cram a lot of uneasiness into a few short lines, and I think it takes a real artist to do that! I enjoyed.