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Fumble at the Lounge (Free verse) by Rodavlas
Sprawled out on the couch Dreaming, sulking, smiling a pout. Dazing into a trance I wonder what? I turn to her, she doesn't budge. Wide-eyed perfection. Does she need affection? Feebishly showing her shoulders I breathlessly watch without her notice. Ashamed of my position, ashamed of my class I sit in the corner and I fumble the pass.

Up the ladder: Ode to My Crack

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Arithmetic Mean: 6.75
Weighted score: 5.4706473
Overall Rank: 2842
Posted: June 27, 2004 10:06 AM PDT; Last modified: June 27, 2004 10:06 AM PDT
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Comments:
[4] nentwined @ 66.92.183.34 | 28-Jun-04/7:47 PM | Reply
The metaphor is somewhat interesting, but overall it doesn't have enough rhythm for me; the lines jerk from one to the next. The half-rhyme of 'couch' and 'pout' really doesn't work for me. I think the poem could be more interesting if you explored the metaphor a bit more directly and left the broad statements to be assumed.

Hope this is somewhat helpful...
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