an argument for intelligent design?
such pain right there! it's hard, i think, to write it in a way that really hits the reader, to make them feel the vicarious pain, but you have accomplished that with such economy of language. a pain fit to take the breath away, tying in perfectly with the phrase "self suffocation". in fact, that part leaves me so breathless, what comes either side of it seems less important and fades for me.
any parent who has known the grief of a seriously ill baby will understand this on a level beyond how it manages to affect anyone else. the religious overtones are well-suited for this, and i liked your use of 'tears baptismal' ... when an infant's at death's doors, any water serves to baptise in a religious context - a mother's tears are the most apt source of that water i can imagine.
i'm looking at my skreen and vonderink how i might do vot you haf suggested. (konfused fa-e)
i'll try swapping keyboards again later, and if the m, y and other missing keys are working i'll go in and edit. right now, in the relative pea-e and quiet, i'm getting my thoughts down while i kan
this is so different, i can't help but admire it. i particularly like the technical language you used, the blueprint's architect voice.
something about that 'blind and fingerless' part that lingers on ...
and here we have the birthing of a form! how exciting
or have you experimented with this format elsewhere, annie? if it's new here, how apt! lolol.
hiya, Ryan Black ;D
i also kinda like the hard A sounds you've adopted throughout to help with that cohesiveness this piece is requiring.
http://images.google.co.uk/images?q...ent=firefox-a&um=1&ie=UTF-8&sa=N&hl=en&tab=wi
Cyanotype as Myth
The sheet shows nothing but your outline, traced
along one drift of hip in Prussian blue.
Your silhouette is blank, in no way true
to anything but shape—the way you placed
your breast curved on the paper, turned your waist
to draw this line, this sinuous tattoo
of pure abstraction. Beauty's always new
in Aphrodite's eyes—just not this chaste.
So now, my Galatea, rise unbound
from this flat, photographic surface. Be
a Woman and not Art, with Love be crowned!
Pygmalion thus to the picture talked.
The miracle, though, wasn't meant to be:
this blueprint wasn't birthed, but simply stalked.
Cyanotype by Trabucco Mumi
Form: Italian Sonnet
on blueprints drafted before birth
she told me after the fact,
as she often did,
but seeing the telltale marker
on the white plastic stick
slapped a smile like, well,
like nothing else in the world
much later, when it all came
crashing about my head,
evaporating like dew under
sunlight, I knew the truth of it
machinations,
manipulations,
I was always susceptible to a
fluttering eye and a set of
rounded curves
-----
makes me see the convoluted and brilliant spirals of DNA ... the act of creation artists of any genre undertake as something god-like
yes, i can relate to the voice in this write, though count myself fortunate in having an excellent english teacher once, at probably the most formative years for me when it came to growing to love and maybe understand a little more about literature. had it been all down to the others, i might well have never seen a bud open!
. original! the short nature of this piece underlines the brevity of passion and what is held dear to us. everything changes.
and here we have the birthing of a form! how exciting
what would Lit be without its share of erotic poetry? and you've neatly encapsulated the erotic whilst playing with the original trigger. But this is more than mere erotica, it's a love poem. i'm a sucker for a sweet love poem.
fave phrase probably this:
) and you need to write more to firmly establish it! 
