He wandered around the night streets
Of his mind, thinking they were Toronto, again,
He would say,
“I want to pretend I know, but I don’t know when I pretend!”
Always signing his letters
‘Talk to me later’
And ‘In love, with love,'
The women were his streetlights,
Shining so brightly but always out of reach,
So much dark…
He just wanted a real star to shine
In the night for once,
Even further-even
Genuine,
And not just the stuff
Of tantalizing dreams,
But alas, t’was his mind unjust,
And his eyes couldn’t see back in.
And like his father,
“There’s dreams in this drink, so give me some more.”
I love the conversational tone of the beginning of this poem. I don't think you need "shining so brightly but always out of reach" - the metaphor "women were his streetlights" does the job. I would consider dropping or revising "stuff of dreams," as it rings a bit cliche. The final line is awesome.
ReplyDeleteThanks a lot for commenting, Adam. The first of many, hopefully.
ReplyDeleteThe poem definitely loses its oomph about halfway through...I loved the beginning so much that I scrambing to find what to say next. The closer saves it, but it still needs some work, and I'll see what I can do with it.