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Iím driving fast through the city. there are no stoplights and nobody else is on the roads and itís night time but everything is lit from the moon Iím not in my truck at all Iím in some fast car that really tears it up Iím letting the fat tires slide around the curves by the Art Museum the bricks of that building pulsing from black light pulsing down from the stars the pulsing lights up my car too the cops are out but they donít seem to recognize my car and donít know what to do so they canít catch me they try for a few blocks but they canít keep up everythingís hot too like the daytime here Iím glad this isnít Collingswood I donít know exactly where I am but I know the route even though I canít think where it will take me I get onto 76 which is a highway and floor it up over two hundred and each time I hit a patch of dirt the car slides a little to the outside because Iím always turning turning turning holding on breaking and accelerating into the apex even in the long straight parts Iím recovering from the last turn and peeling into the next one thereís no sound of course and Iím not myself anymore which makes me think I can go faster I start looking for a spot Iíll know it when I see it Itís around the corner and Iím almost there now I can smell something burning which is exactly what Iím looking for but I canít see it yet then it the engine stops and I pull over one tire on the curb even though thereís no one praked clsoe Iíve lost the power steering when itís still I can see smoke pumping out of the hood like a bomb touched off I know Iíd better check it out I pop the hood and the metal is red hot when I pick it up but it doesnít burn my fingers dent the smoke clears like Iíve hurt it and the engine is knotted up and broken down the middle where the last of the smoke is the smoke is what I smelled and the broken engine is what I was after but I am disappointed. I know Iíve figured something out, but it slides like smoke, and Iím already tired again.



------
You wish.


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Comments

The following comments are for "Vine Street, Philadelphia"
by paperbackwriter

could be I'm getting old
but this really gave me a headache... blocks of dense text never really worked for me in poetry and I found this quite unwieldy and difficult to follow... I do like the stream of consciousness idea, and I think an informal, fluid style works well for the story you're trying to tell and suits the exhilaration and psyched chaos of the tone, but this is maybe a case of over-kill...? A bit to stylised, if you see what I mean? In danger of looking forcedÖ Of course, this is just my opinion, but I think the poem would work better if there were some spaces in the text, nothing as rigid as "proper" punctuation, but some line-breaks and hyphens, enjambment, that sort of thing... running the words together can be very affective, but I think used relentlessly throughout the whole poem, it does loose impact...

an interesting idea for a poem, though, and a bold experiment.

( Posted by: AuldMiseryGuts [Member] On: June 29, 2007 )

Vine Street
I have to agree with Shannon on this.

( Posted by: wanda [Member] On: June 29, 2007 )

as prose poems go
i found this a little unnerving...but i sure have left a comment, haven't I?

john. john doe.

( Posted by: johnjohndoe [Member] On: June 29, 2007 )





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