by Rae Hallstrom
Wednesday, August 27, 2003
Not rated by the Author.
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I am the granite of dry elbows dragged on flannel,
a porcupine with a cleaver,
a low table that teeters on stilts.
I am burnt toast, embers fuming for no good reason,
the pot that never boils.
You can taste me in the raspberry seeds
sucked from jam into a mouth ulcer,
feel me in the metal spatula of every step in tight underpants,
sense me in the snare drum in the bathroom.
I am not a walk in the park when the sky is blue.
Look for me in a cave of stomach acid,
in the cat stuck in a closet, waking the door,
in a tangle of knots at the edge of hot buttered nerves.
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|Reviewed by Regis Auffray
|Powerful in imagery and meaning; well done, Rae. Love and peace to you,
|Reviewed by La Belle Rouge (Reader)
|Now this is some outstanding imagery.|
|Reviewed by J. Murphy
|This is superb--creative, witty, discriptive. A great escape from the cliches that I have read before this one this morning. Great descriptions of emotions and experiences and feelings mixed together. J.|
|Reviewed by Bhuwan Thapaliya
|Loved this fabulous write!!!!|
|Reviewed by Nicole Davis Vergara (Reader)
|Wow, this one says and depicts so very much...very fine work!
|Reviewed by Katy Walsvik
|Wow! This is a hail storm of really interesting and unique expressions.. I didn't just read it.. I could feel it. Pointed and honest, it has focus and complete originality. It sandblasts! You're good!~ katy.|
|Reviewed by Michael Morash (Reader)
|Very nicely done. Brilliant work.|