She sees blood and remembers. How true the memory is, how false the fact.

Haunting. As usual, your language carries it. Don't know if I like the line "what is revealed may not be what is truly there." What is truly there after all?

If you mean a blind person, then the beginning is good. But the conclusion eludes me, since we must see or feel or hear the beautiful thing before we can know its beauty.

I like the cow pies turning ripe in the rain and their smell in the wind, a fresh, good smell. I've had my own private thunderstorm and liked it very much.

Oh, for God's sake get over it! Have another drink. Write another poem. Go for a walk. Do something! This sitting around feeling sorry for yourself, well it's selfish and wrong. If I were on the stool next to you I'd buy you a drink.

Is Shakespeare your tutor? I don't like most of his sonets and I don't like this, even if it is hard to write.

Well, as long as you write about and don't do it that's good. It happens I am a woman and my tits do sag, but ya know what, I wear a bra and stand erect and go about as if I had something worthwhile to do besides write and write about sadness.

Better than most of the pop lyrics I hear. I'd like it get into the kinda mood of "Bridge Over Troubled Waters" a little more though.

Some very strange language this. Too many lines don't make sense.

Wow, there's several ways to take this. What man, after knowing the warm squeeze of a woman's womb would desire anything more. Well, being a man you can return.

Somebody told me recently that poetry is a language game. Well this game gives me a lot of tension, like a turnbuckle tightening its ropes. You have an artful, but tensioning, way of bring the most remote scenes into a steel contraption - i.e. verse 3

I, too, know nothing of the rap scene. But you've shown it to me here and it makes sense. I'll listen closer next time I hear it.

The first verse flows well. The rest seems unrelated, redundant even, supposition. I'd rather see snow flakes than "would be" flakes.

Wish I were schizophrenic. Sounds like fun. Seem better, though, to make it personal, not pitting it inside their heads, but talk about how it is inside the head of a schizophrenic.

I like a good song and hate to complain in the middle of a hill-billy gittin-back-tagether tune, but if you remember all this in Verse 1, why don't you remember any of it in Verse 3? An' ain't it presumptious of y'all askin' her ta cancel her New Years plans and all. You'uns stay with us, hear. It ain't all that bad.

I have to read this several times to resalize the sequence of events. Would prefer to know a glass of wine is falling in the first verse. A riddle it is. Speaking from the glass's pov is quite nice however.

Do you mean "Tucked into an ice sculpture"?
mollusk?
chiseled?

Anything with suicide in it deserves a zero, but because of Verse 4 and the first half of Verse 6, you get a 7.

Aparently it was worth all of this and all of another what?--fifty more years. Who knows what erotic pleasure lies in a sixty-year-old's bed?

Yes, funny. Mascara goes on eyelashes and eyebrows, not on skin.