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Infinite Monkeys. Infinite Typewriters.
More in my south my south
I don't know whether I've read this before or it just feels so familiar because it works instantly. I love the way this looks on the page, like little post-it notes stuck on the fridge. Your use of kenning really takes this to a deeper narrative level -- starlittered, sanddusted -- words that seem just right. I do get a wonderful image from this but I think I'm missing the complete picture through absolutely no fault of yours, it's just that I can't quite grasp some of your references. Cultural differences and all. I mean, our seasons are backwards! "Blue ridged echoes" sends me straight to "Country Roads" and I don't know if that's what you've intended. Your reading starts of a little hesitant (don't you feel like a bit of a moron talking to yourself?) but it definitely picks up as you get inside the poem. It just shows that the best poetry works on paper and aloud.
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