Bristling
With our feet
cemented in plastic,
we are stuck too close to each other.
If we only had arms
we would push and scratch
until (if we had lungs) we could
breathe.
Dangling like wingless bats
from a yellow ceiling,
we flex and stretch together,
our hurl spines working with gravity.
When we are drawn
across the ground,
we play capsized soccer,
and head with the ball
toward the enormous goal.
*I feel like I've got a long way to go with this. This is literally the first draft. My boyfriend is still sweeping right now, but I can't think of anything else to put. Suggestions on where to go with this would be appreciated!
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So this is a poem about Junior sweeping? I didn't catch that from the context of the draft, but I do love the angle and the overall abstract feel of the poem. It's a short one, but I love phrases like "capsized soccer" and I am very entertained by the notion of "wngless bats dancing". I caught a bat once, and the little bastard flailed around obsessively and made these horrid screeching sounds, so this image is a very solid one in my mind. What is the enormous goal, by the way? Maybe you could get a little more by explaining that. I would like to see some added length to this draft. Don't put it in the file cabinet just yet. Hope you guys are doing well!
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