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The Carter: (1 Viewer)

dannyboy

Friends of WF
edit 1

Pulls the wagon
wood threatening to burst, cart chocked
with femurs and skulls, remains
removed from clogged cemeteries
to a new place of rest; even dead crowd
in silence louder than car horns,
strident as fingernails on chalkboards.

Dressed in white
that glows in subterranean city
works through the days beneath the workers
who work through days; has no sun
until a returns upstairs to sleep,
instead the gentle hum of carbide, the sound
of wooden wheels across limestone.

Leads the cart
deeper into the labyrinth; carries
the rejected who had no coins for Kharon
and must travel by road instead. Wears a hat
and smock as if an artist, searches
for the site of the next great masterpiece
the ink the years, the brush the finality of death.


************************************************

Who is this man? Pulls the wagon
wooden wheels, the cart chocked
with femurs and skulls, the remains
removed from the clogged cemeteries
to a new place of rest; even the dead crowd
their silence louder than car horns,
strident as voices can only desire to be.

Who is this man? Dressed in white
so that he glows in the subterranean city
working through the days beneath the workers
working through their days; he has no sun
until he returns upstairs to sleep,
instead the gentle hum of carbide, the sound
of wooden wheels across limestone.

Who is this man? Leads the cart of the dead
deeper into the labyrinth as if carrying
the rejected who had no coins for Kharon
and must travel by road instead; he wears a hat
and white smock as if an artist, searches
for the site of his next great masterpiece
the ink the years, the bristles the finality of death.
 
Last edited:

2020Syd2020

Senior Member
Hello,

I like this piece a lot, I hope you don’t mind I’ve made a few suggestions below, just to see if you could make the reading of this more streamlined.

Cheers
Syd




Who is this man? Pulls the wagon
wooden wheels, the cart chocked
with femurs and skulls, the remains
removed from the clogged cemeteries
to a new place of rest; even the dead crowd
their silence louder than car horns,
strident as voices can only desire to be.

Who is this man? Dressed in white
so that he glows in the subterranean city
working through the days beneath the workers
working through their days; he has no sun
until he returns upstairs to sleep,
instead the gentle hum of carbide, the sound
of wooden wheels across limestone.

Who is this man? Leads the cart of the dead
deeper into the labyrinth as if carrying
the rejected who had no coins for Kharon
and must travel by road instead; he wears a hat
and white smock as if an artist, searches
for the site of his next great masterpiece
the ink the years, the bristles the finality of death.
 

dannyboy

Friends of WF
Yes, good thought Syd, I'll play around with it today. The who is this man comes from my first response to a photograph, probably only I need to know that.
 
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