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speak slowly when you question

will winter remember
our visions of a drunk sea
beneath a thousand clouds
pregnant with despair?

will you remember come morning
our dream of a white horse
dancing headless through the rye?

speak softly when you answer,
stuttering into sleep.
:icontangenthoughts:

Author's Comments

I found this going through a box tonight. I don't remember writing it, and I have no idea when it's from. Slightly edited.

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:icondandy-poshlost:
Very interesting.

I love the first quatrain. It's teeming with tension, contrasting the drunken dangerous sea with the pregnant sky. I admit, it puts me on edge (and I like it).

I am intrigued by the second quatrain, but a little confused regarding the meaning. Could you elaborate on the metaphor?

That aside, very solid poem. Good job!

--
"He who laughs last has not yet heard the bad news." - Bertolt Brecht
:icontangenthoughts:
I'm not entirely sure I understand it, either. It was a disturbing image that came to my mind, and I felt compelled to write it down so that it would stop haunting me. I think I connect it mostly with the corruption of innocence (à la Salinger, however unfortunately), and it can take on a number of connotations from there.

I don't remember writing the poem specifically, but I seem to remember the idea behind it being some sort of descent into madness, characterized—as the title suggests—through inebriation.

Maybe.
:icondandy-poshlost:
I completely relate, man.

Isn't poetry great?

--
"He who laughs last has not yet heard the bad news." - Bertolt Brecht
:icontangenthoughts:
I'd like it much better if anyone gave a shit about it.

The trouble with poetry is that anyone with a pen thinks he can write it, just like anyone with a digital camera thinks he can take photography. If we'd just leave it to the people who knew what the hell they were doing, we might have a little more respect for the mediums.

</elitism>

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January 23
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