DetailsThe poem, its numbers, and the conversation.

Flat

Member since 2007 · Posted 3 Nov 2007 · 6 comments

every hollow air filled dip on my crinkled cardboard form a never ending pattern tiny waves shallow and bland unrelieved by even the faintest sigh tastes of beige the fight - I picked with you didnât have the same fire my heart refused to beat any faster and my mouth â well it lacked bite so I just drove too far with the tank on empty

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3 votes so far. Yours would make 4.3 votes so far

6 comments

[8] INTRANSIT 4-Nov-07/5:38 AM Reply

Part of me likes the incongruity. The other part doesn't, 'natch. Hmmm. I know cardboard burns hella fast, and burning gasoline and fire in the second--

The more I look at it the more I like it as is. Is the cardboard only there to describe you ?

[n/a] Skamper › INTRANSIT 4-Nov-07/4:13 PM Reply

I never thought of the references to burning/fire...hmmm, wonder what I meant with that...

The cardboard describes how I felt at the time, a cut-out of myself, there but not taking part.

[8] INTRANSIT › Skamper 6-Nov-07/5:36 AM Reply

"A cardboard cutout of myself" Might make a better title.

[n/a] Skamper › INTRANSIT 6-Nov-07/7:45 PM Reply

Hmmm, maybe...I'm crap when it comes to titles

[9] Melanie Jade 4-Nov-07/5:42 PM Reply

Recycle

[n/a] Skamper › Melanie Jade 6-Nov-07/7:45 PM Reply

maybe it's time I did