Two eyes decapitate me.
Headless, full of joy, I wonder,
Are they my own?
I can no longer tell.
Long strong bones they break,
While keeping the snake of my spine,
Each vertebra timed just right,
Not too close, not too far.
Two eyes bleed me,
Until I am light.
Is it ruin they beget?
I cannot tell.
I hope the destroying never ends.
What a wonderful way to have your self-evisceration organized!
My goodness, my goodness.
Would not Jung himself kiss your vestigial tail?
The first stanza alone had me coiled. The last line drips sugar from loving fangs.
This is some very satisfying poetizing.
I read it a hundred times and I still can't fully get the meaning of it. Why I kept at it I don't know, but it's very interesting :)
Guess my poetry isn't up to par.
Nick, it think it may be easier to re-read others' stuff than one's own. I find that when I'm re-reading my things I have this terrible desire to change a word here or there, move a comma, etc. - drives me crazy. It's like others' work is complete (and therefore can be re-read as it is) but my own not quite done, a pain to re-read.
Oh my heavens, though: could there be a more satisfying self-evisceration than editing poetry?
We may need some thinking and writing about the psychology of editing...
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