As always, your response is: As always, your response is very astute, very accurate, or---as we used to say on the c.b.---"10-10 and 10-8 shape." I always feel very honored when you visit one of my poems. Thank you for doing so.
There’s quite a sharp edge to: There’s quite a sharp edge to this piece that feels less like a meditation on poetry and more like a confrontation with its absence. By calling the lines “geometry” rather than verse, the speaker seems to be wrestling with the difference between form and feeling, of whether art can survive if it’s only structure without spirit. The imagery of discarding, of trash and triviality, lands with deliberate cruelty, but it also raises a deeper question: what makes a work worth keeping, and what makes it vanish without consequence? It can also be read it as a reminder that not everything we create will endure, but even the act of naming that impermanence has its own strange power.
What's not to like about how: What's not to like about how this prose captures the feeling of being pulled apart inside, it's like strength and fragility are constantly colliding. The fragmented, dreamlike imagery makes the inner chaos feel very real, almost like stepping into someone’s stream of consciousness. It’s less about telling a story and more about evoking that raw mood of disconnection and searching for clarity.
This observation frames the: This observation frames the poem as speaking in a “dialect of duality.”
It captures the way each stanza doesn’t just present a contrast
(stones/sunlight, loss/memory, sorrow/joy) but also acts as a hinge
between what came before and what comes after.
The idea of being “caught in the middle always” mirrors the poem’s central theme:
that life is lived in tension, never fully on one side or the other.
In that sense, the comment deepens the reading
by showing how the poem’s structure enacts its meaning.
I like how you’ve framed the: I like how you’ve framed the poem through an apocalyptic lens. The “horror that stammers forth” feels true to its halting cadence; survival not as triumph but as a broken persistence. That tension between void and perseverance is exactly where the piece seems to breathe.
Your words blur the gaps: Your words blur the gaps between radio silence and surrender to the soul: no longer am I part of an audience but the one being directly spoken to.
In the dialect of duality,: In the dialect of duality, each stanza seems to be a symbolic representation of both what precedes and follows, caught in the middle always.
This is a powerful and deeply: This is a powerful and deeply devotional piece. It reads like a prayer set to music,
and being as you connected it to the spirit of John Tavener’s sacred works; his compositions often stretch toward the eternal, layering repetition, invocation, and silence into something transcendent.
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