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Array ( [sid] => 145538 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => Tungsten Cooled by the AC and Minimized by the Bottle [time] => 2008-10-05 14:29:48 [hometext] => Just imagine this guy doing this for the rest of his life. Something has got to give. [bodytext] =>
Wind squabbles with the fields of flowers;
stems sway the other way on this day
of forgetting oneself in whiskey.

Here, on these conning pastures reside
a child who chats with his older self
about anything and everything.

He talks Tonka Trucks and Iron Tank
and makes himself full on tasty tarts
while his elder sits, smiling away.

Says he was lit with starry answers
found inside a tome about nothing.
But, somehow he still learned something new.

Shoves another slice of pie inside
his mouth and tells himself these little
tales about how he was the smart-bulb—

how his smarts illuminated the
rooms of every single dark classroom
he stepped into—no matter how big.

This child persists with the chatting and
doesn't notice how fat he is get-
ting, to the point his pants start ripping.

Then the whiskey decides to wear down
into the bladder, triggering that
effect of waking up from a daze.

Stays while the owner traces the glass
trails on tile to a light bulb fallen
from its white, spinning, stubby-trunk tree.

This owner of organs gets up slow
and lumbers to the bathroom mirror;
that kid's adult looks back at himself, smiling. [comments] => 2 [counter] => 210 [topic] => 43 [informant] => skyhawk432 [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => oops )

Tungsten Cooled by the AC and Minimized by the Bottle

Contributed by skyhawk432 on Sunday, 5th October 2008 @ 02:29:48 PM in AEST
Topic: oops

Wind squabbles with the fields of flowers;
stems sway the other way on this day
of forgetting oneself in whiskey.

Here, on these conning pastures reside
a child who chats with his older self
about anything and everything.

He talks Tonka Trucks and Iron Tank
and makes himself full on tasty tarts
while his elder sits, smiling away.

Says he was lit with starry answers
found inside a tome about nothing.
But, somehow he still learned something new.

Shoves another slice of pie inside
his mouth and tells himself these little
tales about how he was the smart-bulb—

how his smarts illuminated the
rooms of every single dark classroom
he stepped into—no matter how big.

This child persists with the chatting and
doesn't notice how fat he is get-
ting, to the point his pants start ripping.

Then the whiskey decides to wear down
into the bladder, triggering that
effect of waking up from a daze.

Stays while the owner traces the glass
trails on tile to a light bulb fallen
from its white, spinning, stubby-trunk tree.

This owner of organs gets up slow
and lumbers to the bathroom mirror;
that kid's adult looks back at himself, smiling.

Copyright Â© skyhawk432 ... [ 2008-10-05 14:29:48]
(Date/Time posted on site)

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Re: Tungsten Cooled by the AC and Minimized by the Bottle (User Rating: 1 )
by glassicallyunsuperficial on Sunday, 5th October 2008 @ 11:08:12 PM AEST
(User Info | Send a Message)

I think the starting stanzas were pretty brilliant, untill the pants ripping part, that became quite funny, undermined the whole quality.
Nonetheless, rather enjoyable.
=)

Re: Tungsten Cooled by the AC and Minimized by the Bottle (User Rating: 1 )
by karoody on Monday, 6th October 2008 @ 04:01:07 AM AEST
(User Info | Send a Message)

i read this last night and do not find the pants ripping to be remotely funny. not even in a dry sense of humor. and i've laughed some stuff off. trust me. i don't think it diluted your write any. the only reason i did not comment last night was that you drew an overly vivid mental picture for me. my personal problem. but that shows something good for the author i think. you were trying to show us something, weren't you?
kara

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