Three Years into Limbo (New rev 20.02.2012), 2 or 3 revs. *** (for crits) Options

[Psyche]

Thank you Snow, Steve, Wally, Dani, Lori and all for your enormous help.
I've just tweaked a few lines (put italics), so didn't copy & paste again.



REVISION

Three Years into Limbo

I was wrong.
Time is gentle with you.
Your mind sheds muddled memories.
Each day, you’re born again.
Conformist drill, primary needs,
hallucinations, mirth.

A broad smile greets me.
We hug - I'm your bride!
-What’s in t'bag?
-Cookies.
And peach juice. What joy!

-'Tis m'fiancée, B..b..ertha.
-Oh… I say.
Bertha stares vacuously.
You wave angular arms:
-M'wife lives 'nudder h..h..hotel!
Bertha articulates:
-Do come soon.
-Mmmm… I mumble.

Outside, pungent evening air
is a mocking lifesaver.
It’s Sunday. Families
stroll by with pushcarts,
cyclists whizz between lazy traffic,
the odd sparrow picks at garbage.

I feel lonely among the dog poop,
bicycles, sparrows.
Families irk me.
An ochre sky compresses my shoulders.

I hear kitty meowing as I
fiddle with keys in the lock.
She twines herself around my legs,
tripping me as I search for a cool
drink and our dinners.

My wits are awash in chaos:
my dreams dream you
on bygone illumined isles.

Limbo has dance-stepped over to my side
with sidling grotesquerie.

Poetry and plans are on hold…


20.02.2012 revs:
Conversations in italics.
S2, L5: Different.


Revs: S2, L5.
S3, L1

Sylvia Evelyn, Buenos Aires, Argentina, 2010.



ORIGINAL

Three Years in to Limbo

I was wrong.
Time is gentle with you.
Your mind dumped merciless memories.
Each day, you’re born again.
Conformist drill, primary needs,
hallucinations, mirth.

A broad smile greets me.
You hug me like a bride.´
-What’s in that bag?
-Cookies.
… gobbling goodies.

-This is my fiancée, Bertha.
-Oh…I say.
Bertha stares inanely.
You wave your arms:
-My wife doesn’t live here.
Bertha articulates:
- Do come soon.
- Mmmm… I mumble.

Outside, pungent evening air
is a mocking lifesaver.
It’s Sunday. Families
stroll by with pushcarts,
cyclists whizz between lazy traffic,
the odd sparrow picks at garbage.

I feel lonely among the dog poop,
bicycles, sparrows.
Families irk me.
An ochre sky compresses my shoulders.
I hear kitty meowing as I
fiddle with keys in the lock.
She twines herself around my legs,
tripping me as I search for a cool
drink and our dinners.

My wits are awash in chaos:
my dreams dream you
on bygone illumined isles.

Limbo has dance-stepped over to my side
with sidling grotesquerie.
Poetry and plans are out…



Sylvia Evelyn, Buenos Aires, Argentina, 2010.

[Guest_ohsteve_*]

Sylvia, you could do what I just did in Crayons Don't Cry use italics for the first voice then bold italics for the second voice...now if you had a third voice....maybe just bold for it...I don't see any other way without all those ""all over the place. I am very glad to know that you are on the mend, My doctor said the sounds I have in my lungs is called velcro rails...cause it sounds like two pieces of velcro being taken apart, isn't that a wonderful way to have your lung sounds described...LOL. I am doing better pain wise, but unfortunately the medications are laying a blanket over my thinking as well as my pain. I hope you continue to get better and that you and Eira both continue to write some new stuff.

Take care
Steve