I have a serious black leather notebook
to write in, serious glasses
with plastic tortoiseshell frames.
I have certain unshakeable ways of writing and thinking,
certain jokes that only certain people make.
These are my tribal colors, though I try
not to think about the fact that once,
tne thousand years ago, I would have smeared
certain colors of paint across my face,
would have hung the teeth of certain animals
around my neck. Really, it's no different
from all the concert t-shirts, jeans worn thin
with hours of sitting. I'm a tribal creature,
like it or not, for all my writerly accessories,
my leather notebook and plastic glasses.
I think it needs something-- maybe another stanza, somewhere in between the third and fourth. Or maybe it's just generally terrible. Mmph.
no subject
Date: 2003-11-08 08:43 pm (UTC)The piece has a rhythm to it, you know. I think you may be right, about it needing another stanza, or perhaps just a finishing couplet.
no subject
Date: 2003-11-08 10:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-11-09 03:34 am (UTC)