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this old man (edit) (Free verse) by Bill Z Bub

Grimey, like a shuffle in the downtown sludge, open bardoors breathing the stink of liquor and piss and old men, their pockmarked skin flaking hopeless desire. this old man, thistle man, throws down the brown paper bag filled with smashed sterile bones of glass, and rubs his hands, his empty hands. he croaks, points prideful gnarled knuckles at the line-walkers passing above. snatches the black woolen cap from his lap. he won't move til he's ready, this thistle grown from concrete and asphalt, prickly and dried, weathered in a barrel for life.

<~> 9-Mar-03/5:21 PM
hello mr bub,

some comments on yer pome:

"surreptitiously. "
too long/bland/erudite a word for this poem. it doesn't fit the gist of it. you're all about the things the simple and the simply arrogant want hhere--and besides, they are obvious in their avoidance, are they not? so why the word, bub? it confuses the issue.

"prideful gnarled knuckles at the line-walkers
passing above*,*
snatch*es* the black woolen cap
from his lap. "

i know you're all about the grammar, so i thought i'd throw that at you.

that being said, i like this very much.

but your ending makes him a plant and not a man; by steailing his mobility, you steal his humanity. if by 'barrel' you mean to infer his thirst for the 80 proof, it does not work here..



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