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The lies we told others
others who loved us
were crop circles
cut into fields
where we made love.
Arrows, lines, stranger shapes,
concentric circles of deceit
that both separated us from
and connected us to
each other and the world.
- COMMENTS
PandoraGlittersover 14 years agoThis one is very strong but it makes me a bit sad. I really enjoy the concept of crop circles in the field but it feels that the narrator is being emotionally dishonest with himself because a hoax is a very silly thing. Harmless. A lie to people who love one--not so much.
Bill Dadaover 14 years agoYou keep writing stuff that I enjoy the hell out of, this one it no exception. One suggestion though, to me the third to last and second to last lines don't read as well as the rest of the poem. I think if you remove the word from from the 3rd to last line and to from the second to last line it might read better. Just a suggestion, on the other hand I could be totally full of it.
lorencinoover 14 years agoYour poem is as mysterious as crop circles and the nature of you and your lover's deceit. My curiosity is rampant in response. I read the poem over and over to scratch the itch until it stretches me into an eternal sensibility without sense.
