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Edgewise
June 23rd, 2010, 09:14 AM
Some dirge, not from the ditch they were digging
on the side of the road, or from their throats
rubbed raw from one verse repeated
like an invocation to swing their picks
despite the protest of their muscles
and a constant cloud of dust.

And not from death or dashed dreams,
no tombstones to mark the grave
where they buried hope alive
to stay sane for just one more day
and one more day, and unearthing them
the day after memory woke them up,
covered in cold sweat, somehow stoic
despite another screaming, sticky afterbirth.

They continue hollering a rhythm,
instruments locked in a chain around their legs
shaking out the same melody any slave
shackled in any day and age would drag their feet to,
stubborn, a subtle refusal in song,
too alive to wait and die in silence.

ash somers
June 23rd, 2010, 11:07 AM
edge, enjoyed the combination of metaphor - toil and song
and thought the three stanzas played the story out well
the phrasing sent me see-sawing back and forth :)
or up and down, or in and out, make a choice
i detect a definite sense of rhythm ...

i feel there's a hiccup in the middle of the 2ndS?


And not from death or dashed dreams,
no tombstones to mark the grave
where they buried hope alive
to stay sane for just one more day
and one more day, and unearthing them
the day after memory woke them up,
covered in cold sweat, somehow stoic
despite another screaming, sticky afterbirth.i think it might be the two them's, the two and's combined and then comma?
i dunno for sure, but that part is where i lost my footing in terms of flow
i'd be looking at working further to resolve the repetition, because

i love repetition ...



to stay sane for just one more day
and one more day, and unearthing them

making it stand out with a cracking pop

still, enjoyed the ride as is

regards, ash