Detox? Recovery? Grief? Rebirth? All of these, and coffee. The protracted awareness borne of desolation, well sung. You have a bell of a voice, Mr. Knowit.

As far as this poem is concerned, pump up the irony, use it as a tragic device.

(YOU FUCKING RETARD) 4 for efourt.

The camaro would have been more specific i believe.

I smile at your foolishness, and comfort you, dear. Move on, now. you must, or you shall waste.

If you are on a mission to love, you might make it to 2.

Maybe i can clarify the symbolism of the closet? it's a profound metaphor the like of which no one can imagine a place that holds boogie men, skeletons, and apparently homosexuals. and also the ever rare pre teen pot s,oker durin an intermission while watching rambo two search for sp-ock, i meant the wrath of slahng. i meant tattoo and fantasy island, but not ricardo monteban selling me an oldsmobile, see.

GAH HERE IT IS! Woops b4 i had meant to put an 8, when i saw the 4 i was confused.......for a long time .....so imma put 8..is this legal?! lol

Ah, son. The pain of this stains the page, and stains me in the reading of it. Look to poetry for answers; keep your questions sharp. Your outcry here heard is one that is meant for the inner chambers, not the vast ethers. Inside, you may make something of it; out here, it bleeds into nothingness, and wastes you.

And what is this profundity through obscurity bullshit anyway, with the titles in, what is that, portuguese? Latin? Both? And writing three of them? Some sort of holy trinity of 'truth'? The repetition I don't like at all here, since it implies a sort of damned for all times type tone where one of discord and sincerity is more suitable. Are you trying to use the language of old to express something inexpressable in times of old? ie male whore death? Thy? The lines and images themselves are very potent and very well organized but there is so much crap in the way. And the last line is the worst, really, the second to last stands much better on it's own. The finality is far too poetic, to devicey. It acts only as a burden to the obvious virility of the rest of it.

And furthermore I don't see why you're so huffy. I think the poem sucks and I said why. I think it's extremely stupid. Here, I'll change my vote to 10, if that's what bothers you.

If you are on a mission to mars you might make it to the mini mart.

here is the room where i concocted an ovaltine booby trap to fall upon the head of my mean uncle bruce, but then he made me tongue flick his peter and the experience most obviously turned me into a roomless homosexual also wrapped in a sheet. Like a spicy enchillada.

Im no expert, but hell i luv it neway!

The change eliminated ambiguity.

Not sure if it's clever or inane. Especially the last verse. I think knowing the intent and spirit of the poem would help.

Interesting. Very interesting. Somehow you manage Judas quite well. I'm intrigued by the way you make him blandly human. I think the 40 nights and the bleeding go very well together. It was a trial in the desert for him, and this life is a trial for us. We bleed through most of it, not always the bad kind, especially for we girls. Men use to bleed, but then the boys became frightened by it. Tell me, my beautiful Pig, why can't the boys be men? Things are getting desperate. I'm giving this poem a ten because it says so much. Jesus can bleed but Judas musn't, it's not that he can't, it just that he has to make sure he plays his part inorder to make the promise come true. Fuck the pieces of silver, I believe he would have done it for free. If there is a Heaven, God must be showering Judas with gratitude. Thank you so much for the demonstrations of love, it is greatly appreciated. Love you back.

Top-notch. I think if I had read this in some publication i would have pased out. There are things I want to say to you, but I no it is better not to reveal them. We are a kind. This poem captures me like a trap. The words are so inticing, and then whoosh! the rope strangles my ankle, and in a split second I'm upside-down and dangling. Cut me down Mr. Pig. Take me back to the cottage, I'll fry you some taters, scrub out the bathtub, and all with Lady's hands. Seriously you've built a profound thing. "Black jelly" "huntsmen" again the Judas- your father, doing what he must, and all of us hating him for it. Most importantly you cross the barrier and make menstruation a universal experience. I have never seen a man attempt it before, and I doubt I well ever see one do a better job of it.

Stanza after killer stanza. Is it the weather or my hormones? Everybodies writing is sharp these days.

I feel for your pain.