I decided to try my hand at the alternating lines in Emily Dickerson's "I died for beauty-But was Scarce." She alternates between iambic tetrameter and iambic trimiter in the entire stanza. So I was aiming to see if I could do the same for this improv.
Mom would cut with the lisp
Of
her voice. Scaled
Water pails from bottomless
holes. Notebooks writhing
In the night sky. Back then
“Never let
your skin flake”
you muttered, “Or let rivers run
disjointed veins up your arm.”
Another
cut, Ink
splotched in the sheets
The time you barged in
glassworks in your eyes,
Ink
suspended on your tongue
ready to spit, Ready to
cut warm
Though
darkened silence.
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