Sunday, April 18, 2010
In Laymen's Terms, My Dying Cat
A tuft of orange and he’s lacking lasagna quite obviously felt by scales I could play with tracing fingers. One eye full of amber light, the other in which the sun sets. Belying his active stance, his breath reflects rot and reaper within.. Braided strings of sputum expressed in the plague he endures on the flannel roads that will cross. He’s as useful as all knick-knacks, yet too light to weigh down his own certificate. The mange, he has, but “il mange”, he has not. A cauldron boils with the tongues of horses and mystery bratwurst, a steaming mush of regurgitation soon to be sprawled out on his curdled cloak.
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4 comments:
See my comment on the shit-shelf piece. Is this week 11? I can see this assignment has you tied up in knots. You're trying hard! Too hard, even though you do actually start to draw the reader into the word puzzles you set.
I bet the shit-shelf piece was fun and easy to write, and this--not so much. But that's the words-meaning-something-beyond-themselves keeper, not this. Did you include it because you half-suspected that?
Okay, now that I know the other piece isn't yours, let me deal with this one a little more.
It's too much word salad--the elements are not quite coherent. I can imagine running my fingers along a starving cat's ribs, but you're really pushing the limits of what a reader will do for or with the writer. Second sentence, okay--poetic, but clear enough. Third sentence, no, nope, not working for this reader--flannel roads? Ditto four: certificate? Death certificate? Do cats have death certificates? So your reader gets sidetracked, lost, and the piece disintegrates.
Actually two comments, only one listed, what's up with that?
Not your business!
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