Burn

the room burned

a delicate, crimson 

flame.

i could tell you had

been in here

before.

your dark, magnetic,

cruel, lovely ghost

made its way 

to my core.

it seemed to weave its

fingers through mine own

and up my

hands went.

a crippling, shocking,

pleasurably mysterious

hold

on me,

i moved towards the wall.

this stone, unstimulating to

anyone else, but an

undiscovered picasso for me.

your ghost, its thick, calloused,

wrinkled, gnarled, gentle,

swift hands choked my orbs,

carressed them to this wall.

burning, crimson stone;

i couldn't pull away.

your ghost was trivial

but i couldn't pull away.

you were

insignificant

but you burn,

burn;

you're burned into 

me.

Reviews

[John D Phillips]

Uneven, but wonderfully so, I think.

There are great moments, such as the first two stanzas, which are powerful on their own and in the piece. There are also great images and touches, the swirl of slender and incongruous adjectives around the ghost's hands, the delicate crimson flame...

But there are moments that could sing better, or burn brighter, perhaps if they told a little less and showed a little more. The phrase "mine own" in the context of the rest of the language seems a little contrived. The stanza with the line about the undiscovered Picasso left me a little cold - the clinical distance of the comparison is dry when settled next to the passionate colors and feelings of the surrounding lines. Things like that. I love the direct, imagistic language, it gives the poem a sense of mood and intensity, but when the descriptions become detached or abstract, when we leave the world of sensation for the world of statement, it sizzles less.

This is very good work. Thanks for posting.

[RAWR!]

this made want to light a fire.