as in some cases, revisions can suck the life out of a piece... my heart hurts with every tiny addition and subtraction...
morning child is in ruins...
hidden behind morning locks, a glass reflection
of his morning beard and the sound of
blinds opening overtly bright in his good eye.
last night turned unfairly complicated
as she moved through his childhood dreams
and the distinct smell of picture books.
the desicration of this bed of innocents,
of exploration and a million secrets
left him ...
and i haven't got the propper energy to help it.
you see, i've been trying on some suggestions from the critical poetry forum (a fantastic place with the most beautifully honest and sensitive peers). unfortunatly for morning child, i considered it a finished piece, so when the news came to me that it was everything but, and that the grammar got in the way of people enjoying it... uhge.
i love the way the original sounds, it's beautiful to hear and taste, it's abstract and meaningful... but, maybe i'm wrong.
i'll keep it updated here. hopefully something magnificant will grow out of it.
blah with revision on this... blah blah blah
(okay, i could be tired is all)