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deviation in storage by Benperidol

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  • Mood: Sadness
  • Listening to: Clair de lune - Debussy
  • Reading: One article after another, for my sociology thesis
  • Drinking: Johnnie Walker Black
I was wondering if a handful of people could each pick around four to six of my poems that they think are my best and just give a brief explanation, stating why they were chosen? I am asking as I am trying to decide on the 6 poems that I will send into the New Yorker, my last six poems were rejected. However it was written in the rejection email that they looked forward to reading more work when the time comes. (I'm thinking that is a message they send most people who submit to the magazine; I sort of wish they would just discourage rather than encourage lol.)

The rejected poems:

Vae"Quaeque ipsa miserrima vidi
Et quorum pars magna fui."
-Virgil; Aeneid II: L.4-5 -

I still see you as a haze,
Soft blue and white lace against the rain.
Small glimpses, beneath the storm lantern.
Why is it, that when I am at rest
We are children once again, standing
In the unchanging mess, of our rural decay?
Tossing aside the garland,
You folded my linen name
In your arms, and across your chest.
That was not my intention, to digress
So true into the ease of descent
A Nereid girl’s frigid resentment.
O to turn away in that weather,
When you held onto what was left;
My body of prose, left to the tumult of duress.
So unkind is that first lesson,
That we give life to tears when
Cogitations never seem to give way.
Maybe we shall truly part
Minds bereft, and fall apart
Mad with madness before our youth
Reaches the fringe of the one true certainty.
May the will, find some way to endeavor?
I still see you as a haze,
Soft blue and white lace against the rain
     LiedI’m still, this night I am too proud to die-
Drank day, in my eyes that spoke to ruins.
The room a burned out street, so tireless in its hollow
minutes that dug naked with incessant beams.
Lame the pulse fractures through the air, night
climbs the light broken stair, with a learned
whores tongue, whose soft voice synthetic licks
the trembling periphery, but never kisses the brain.
Ariettes of a winding sky-lit womb dance
prismatic, and the swooning gulls signify
the long hours of failed somnolent Eros
her dust a teasing clemency, melting with break of day.  
I’m still, this night I am too proud to die-
Drank day, in my eyes that spoke to ruins.
The room a burned out street, so tireless in its hollow
minutes that dug naked with incessant beams.
     NeroInspired by Champlin's Book
Tasting this aether, grains and moss
I find ruptures building, then clots
Mantua, after Carthage? Burning
Though Philippi was born of water
Venom clings to trireme, veins
Have been struck by many a serpent
Not by their own accord, by symbolic
Obsessions; intuitive Cadmus met the abseiling
Of mussel, a prick of bone that coiled;
Raise hands ye Apollonian in pits that
Need entrails of practical art, like how
The Dead Sea needs some open cuts.
Mercury was not sent to soothe Ioves fervor
Panoptes with a hundred eyes could
Not match one King without;
The messenger brought the crestfallen note
“I know not where he went, for he
Entered into open ground that enclosed
Before me he absented, then I was told, he goes
With a clear head into exanimate oblivion;”
Come now mine Love, lay supine
‘Neath the pulsating beams; bite down
Upon the reveille before it passes,
Through incense, and the seven hills.
Then ye pluckest your muse of choice
     Id, Comes to BreakfastFamine scorched earth,
Nysa, stood bare
breasts exposed
Thymbra &
snow cinders, melted atop the
banqueting table,
next to the blind girl Eurydice;
who, like a Maenad smashed the
cowardly lyre
and choked the
Erinyes with tears.
The dog spat amongst
the perishing bodies of
bruised in the mouth
of Persephone;
their seeds mangled
by fruit flies.
The Bacchantes diuretic,
festively washed refuse
through the sinus of King Petheus,
the navel of Agaue
Europa, who fought the dog
beneath the rotting ambrosia,
for the haveos de toro.
Turkey vultures
who owned the lyre girl's eyes,
pandered them
so Charon could solicit
five, minute cabarets of
to the personified
Grief of the people.
The bident mixed fresh Minthe,
shoveled gray snowflake cinders
into the mouth of Plouton, who thought he
was Thanatos,
while euphemisms called him
     Eliot and the TitanSwallowed world
By way of drumming streetlamps;
I Titan, who once traveled between the concretes and life
Now suffers this synthetic sun,
for such is mine empire:
Frayed ends of imagined cruelties
Where a hecatomb is my body
My body is now a place where commuters eat.
I am undying, forced to cling these images,
Of urbanite resentments.
Winter an emotionless change,
Bring to me obligatory languages
Sailing through alleys of simpering questions,
A coiling of conventions.
Elemental women talk their quartet
Breaking salutations daily over my pain
Plucking gently my chains they speak:
“Misery! to thy name, misery!
'Tis epochal to suffer such sting
Aye are the hours and tidium it springs!
May garbage blow tempests
With papers baring tongues!
May it beckon and glide
Until thy mind dries like tubers.
O titan chained, titan of woe,
May Iove forever spurn you slow…”
Here are scenes at four-o’clock, dusty trams, vacant lots,
This is what happens when the street lamp sings

Again, it would be very helpful if a few people could help me out with this.

Thank you




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ingeline-art Featured By Owner Mar 3, 2015   Traditional Artist
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that means so much for me!
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Gift for a friend for birthday 2 by ingeline-art   Gift for a friend for birthday by ingeline-art
ingeline-art Featured By Owner Mar 2, 2015   Traditional Artist
Thanks so much for faving _
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Canis44 Featured By Owner Mar 2, 2015  Student Writer
Welcome. :)
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Thanks for the fave!
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AileenLuib Featured By Owner Jan 31, 2015   Photographer
Hiiii! I just wanted to drop by and thank you for faving my photo!! :hug:
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Welcome. :)
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thanks for the fav :)
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