The skull splits like dancers in a carnival twisted through the bones. The broken pieces are in my hands eating up the morning fracas situating thoughts within rugged crevices till they tear between colored irresolute dreams. African grasslands through Japanese geishas adventures, absolutions making way in parts derelict exaggerations and succinct allusions rugged insinuations and situational cerebrations tied up in sinuous paths of mentalist maneuvers. The blood of the veins imbue sudden sepia stops and the dreams reach a dead end immersed in real couched catharsis and soaked in bland chores. Waking up again when pulled out of abyss and placed within contexts dreams fluff the tumbling real and replace the immunity of failed pasts vacillating presents blanked futures in lustrous streams of schizoid Corinthians sensing the necessity of emotional hedonism as even if dreams remain within situational spaces, without transformation the mind thrives on the temporal armor of the dances lost between skull scraps.
My life is found mostly in "your" second stanza; particulary from the 3rd to 8th lines! I couldn't put it like this until I go to play (nonverbally) at my piano, but we have you (and I am less a poet than a composer). You most reach a long way back with your writing-- bold with a style your own! Keep your subjects far flung... and the best
michael guy
A wonderful story like no other. To see past and through the physical world and delve into the supernatural is a gift and you handle your gift with delicate hands.....
Be safe,
Karen
Reviewed by David Perry (Reader)
Reviewed on October 5, 2007
You are a master. Beyond that I am speechless.
Reviewed by Jerry Bolton (Reader)
Reviewed on October 5, 2007
When you can sit down and write such a metaphysical and brilliant piece of work, you have things working right for you. Okay, yeah, some will say you are to herky-jerky with the lines, but not I, Saberi. To me each line and expression is a completion of a whole and that whole needs shaking up now and then. There is not a wasted word in this treatise-like prose/poem . . . Stand. Bow. Hear the clapping from your fans?
Slaves who fled their masters were classified as insane. This term came from Dr. Samuel Cartwright who was an apologist for slavery in the pre-Civil War era. This release of my Anoka Time file is a look at slavery in the modern context of Minnesota N
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michael guy
of the best Saberi...
John
Ooooh, I love the way you write. Such imagery! Such lines! Awesome work.
(((HUGS))) and love, Karla.
Be safe,
Karen