Bring Your Wood (poem)
 

Bring your wood
I carry driftwood
And you the wood of oak trees.
It is time to create an X
Hammering nails in once more with bloodied knuckles
Intaking air that makes you sputter.
Torn fingernails dig
Deeper, deeper,
Lost in infertile soil
Unseen.
Impale the blood-of-eden ground
With your sticks and your monumental stones
Transform, adorn
Become that human ornament most high.
Bring your wood
And say it is forever
Clad in the cirrus
Clutched by a rusting cross.
You and I will pick and rummage
And speak of limbo
I will cachinnate, you will weep
You need only bring your wood.





Any feedback would be lovely...

Man, this is NOT where I thought it was going.

Giggity.

...Nothing? Frankly, I'm astounded that no one's picked it apart yet and given me countless reasons as to why I fail as a poet.

Ophelia, now I have Quagmires whole "Giggity giggity, giggity goo. Alright." stuck in my head, lmao.

I'm getting a "buried alive" theme or a "digging your own grave" feel to this poem. Is that what you were hunting for while writing this?

In a way, yes.

While writing it, I noticed that I felt equal parts condescending, a bit desperate, and buried/trapped of my own accord.

To some extent I'm not even entirely sure what the poem is about, but I know that my subconscious was down to the last straw.

I appreciate the rawness of it, though I'm not sure if it flows well enough, or gets my points across. Any suggestions for improvement?

Yeah, my mind was in the gutter when I saw that title.