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The Best Doctor

Her black dress and sunken breasts.
Her bony arm.
The bloodless hand is too far from the black dress.

Beside my sickbed.

The anorexic hip, other arm and grimace face are impatient.

The frigid fingers find my nostrils and lips confidently
and seize.

The eyeless stare and half bald head.

My lungs seize and struggle, fighting her grip.

She cures me.

I really feel that this poem lacks a punch, any suggestions?

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Reviews

  • NoUseForAName
    August 30, 2005

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    There are some amazing images here. I haven’t seen the drawing- but you’ve painted a beautifully gruesome picture.

    I’m a little put off by a couple of things. The structure prevents any kind of natural rhythm. It almost works because of the subject of the piece- but it’s not quite there. It feels very much like a drawing. My experience w/ poetry is that there is usually some type of conclusion drawn, by the narrator or the reader. With this, there is no build-up, no climax, no conclusion to be drawn.

    However- knowing that it is based on a drawing alleviates the frustration of that. So- I think if you want to add punch to it, there needs to be some-type of action w/in the piece… leading up to the struggle because I’m not sure why/where/how/when the struggle began to begin with.

    I also had a hard time with the sentence structure. It could be because of the way the lines are put together- it could be because “Her bony arm.” is not a sentence. If you want the lines to be aborted like that, maybe no punctuation would be the way to go instead.

    Again, though, I do like the images.

    . Rewarded 4

  • becks place
    September 3, 2005
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    i’m not sure i get it…maybe i need to check out the drawing it was inspired by.