zodiac19 Oct 2005

I love "turn wooden on the lathe of fact", the best image on poemranker in months and the lynchpin, I think, of this poem.

In the original you turned wooden, right? I think that would be better. The rest loses me. I don't know what distinction you're making between November and December (or heart and breast), and can't feel the metaphor of ghosts (which are essentially metaphors, no?) And are you lathing things into firewood? How odd.