an excellent result - a subject such as this is really difficult to do and still be fresh and original, but you managed!

Of course, since I'm reportably totally focused on Vipersna, then I feel obligated to ten this poem.

pursuse Sponson's Captains. and this is an ode.

Very recees pieces, interestingly smart and stupid all at once not as far as message or word choice goes but it seemed to start dumbing down quick towards the end. As if it goes from middle aged woman to teenage boy perspective around halfway through, but it's efficient, that's for sure. Here's a nine, because at this point in time who cares anymore anyway.

"---Black bile oozed between Grandfather's lips, and dripped onto the attendant's bloated abdomen. The drip became a trickle, which became a steady stream, and soon he was vomiting a thick torrent of the shining liquid. ---Where it touched the attendant, it boiled and frothed and formed a sickly lather, and as it bubbled it ate away at the flesh. The skin on the man's stomach was becoming liquid and starting to slide around. Beads of blood sprang up where the upper layer had been completely dissolved. ---Grandfather's head lolled forward, and underneath his bushy, flaking eyebrows, his blind eyes rolled insanely. With a sudden fluid movement of his arm, he unhooked the straight razor from its holster and flipped out the dull blade. It was just as he remembered. ---His obscenely gnarled hands trembled, and his breath was rapid. Grandfather hunched over the attendant, reaching out and stroking the places that had been prepared by the mucus. His jaw still hung slightly open as he bent down for a closer view... ---And Grandfather began to shave."

Good. Now I don't have to get lit up and drive like a Silverback on Silverleaves for the sake of growing a curbless days.

I believe you can do much better then this, and unlike Sir heff and Johny boy, I will pull it out of you out inch by inch out of thick poetic love, and not scrotismal boy hood pressure. lol

Firm

fat ass.

very good Rap in style and it actually functions as a poem 'chump with your bandana' certainly echoes

i don't know what to say. excellent. any poem that makes me think, i like.

Damn gurl well in not gonna let u do tht so nah well written though specially considerin u were 10 Damn u r a little screwed up

Do you read your own, or have some one read it aloud to you? It's a BIG help if you don't. Sounds a bit repetetive to me. I like the summary.

ok, expresses itself well but I think using more basic elements of language might help it And the rhymes are so sharp they seem a bit forced

---Plum opened the miniature door and stepped inside. He was in what seemed to be a reception room; against one wall there was a booth occupied by an obese young man, and ahead of him a wide corridor quickly turned a corner. The room was small and lamp- lit; the dim light and yellowed wallpaper, thought Plum, made it somehow seem underground. ---There were vast piles of coats in every conceivable place. Space had been cleared in the middle of the room, but Plum had to step over heaps of dark cloth before he even had enough room to shut the door. The highest of the coat-towers loomed, threatening to topple over. In his mind Plum knocked into one and it came tumbling down, pressing on him and making him breathe musty air. ---The man, whom Plum thought of as the attendant, was intently staring at something underneath the counter of the booth and fidgeting. Perhaps he was playing with a puzzle; at any rate he did not acknowledge Plum, and he seemed to be holding his breath. ---“Pardon me,” said Plum. “May I leave my coat here?” ---The attendant frowned, still concentrating on the activity. After a moment he let out a long rushing sigh, then finally looked up at Plum, somewhat accusingly. ---“One pays inside. This is the cloakroom.” ---“Yes, I thought it was,” explained Plum. “I wondered whether I might leave my coat here?” He gestured vaguely at the piles as if to justify his question. ---The attendant glanced underneath the counter again, then back at Plum. He seemed to make a calculation. “I'm afraid this room is full. You'll have to put it in the back.” He jerked his thumb toward a doorway Plum had not noticed; it was in the booth's shadow, framed by stacks of coats. ---“A-ha, thank you.” Plum took a step toward the doorway, then hesitated and looked to the attendant to make sure he had properly understood. However, the man was again absorbed in his unknown occupation, and Plum felt that further questions would somehow provoke him. ---He made his way around the front of the booth, stepping over a discarded fur. There was a thick wall of coats just inside the doorway, long enough so that no light escaped underneath them, and for all Plum knew the next room was completely dark. He turned sideways and pushed against the mass with his shoulder; it briefly yielded, but only to swing back and bear down on him. He had a sudden fear that if he continued to push, it would simply surround him and he would be unable to move. ---After a final heave, though, he was through, and he found himself standing in a long, narrow chamber with a low ceiling, lit by an exposed bulb. Around the perimeter, forming a rounded oblong, was a high railing, onto which hangers were affixed; the hangers, of course, bore coats of all sorts. The space between the rails was not great, but Plum could move comfortably enough, and he began to look for a free hanger onto which to hang his own overcoat. However, the coats were very densely packed, and it was impossible to tell which hangers, if any, were empty. He supposed he would have to reach blindly into them, though he felt a sinking reluctance, for no reason he could name. ---Grandfather slept restlessly. He had finished working for today, or perhaps he had finished yesterday's work and there was no more for today. It was of course possible that there would never be more. However, he was prepared; he wore his vest, though it was not his usual practice to retire clothed. He was glad he wore it; the vest gave him an excited, nearly sick feeling, and he knew he could rely on it. And without having to touch it, he knew too his razor was in its holster, secured to the vest. At times he felt an unbearable urge to grasp the smooth bone handle and hold it tightly, but he did not act on it. Once it occurred to him that perhaps he could not move his hand at all, but he dared not risk trying, in case he turned out to be right; and since there was no outstanding work, there seemed no good reason to do so. ---Although he had been sleeping for some time, Grandfather did not dream. At least he did not remember ever dreaming, though he often half recalled events, and thinking about a recollection later it sometimes seemed to have been a dream. Now, though, he knew he was dreaming, because in his recollections his heart did not beat, and his hands did not twitch, and he had not seen so clearly in a very long time. The mucus rose in his throat; it was warm and thick. He felt an overwhelming anticipation. ---In his dream, Grandfather was surrounded by dark, heavy coats, and there was work to be done.

Very few words cam describe how beautiful this poem, yet i don't know those words. 10

Open mike with a mellow random Sax backdrop.

lol

cool, kind of impressionist

Thanks what iam talking about... nice