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puppet motion
when I move
the cities will move too,
tied like puppets to my
earthquake body.
I will stir up the plates
and mix the food irregular,
pour sun with water and
apartment floors and make
a soup of your pastry
smoky lives that are
run by clocks.
when I move,
I will break your clocks.
I will the the puppetmaster
to your streets and
the cook that smudged your
last lazy lamp-lit lunch,
an eclectic electric tumble of
buildings and broken bowls
and buses snapped like
candy bars.
when I move,
I will be your doppelganger
and you will follow the
jerks of my uneven unringed
fingers as I mix you
in an earthquake dance
across the whirlpool pot of
concrete soup from your
skies and lamps and chocolate buses.
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Your language in this is
Your language in this is really cool. "Buses snapped like/ candy bars" is perfect. This piece is lovely, but I guess I'm wondering what you're trying to say? What the point or moral of the piece is, really. It's pretty and nice and enjoyable to read, but is it supposed to be something beyond that?
Hm, I vaguely intended it to
Hm, I vaguely intended it to be a personification of fate or something like that, like the world as puppets controlled by uncontrollable things like the weather, earthquakes, etc, but I know that that idea could be made more clear and meaningful. I was mostly having fun with imagery.
It's a great piece either
It's a great piece either way. Just thought I'd ask if you had something in mind for it. Your imagery IS awesome.