Thwarted aspirations,
To you I recall diminished and dreary,
The thickest of adolescent content
And death by overconsumption.
I am the studied outlier.
But the unread novel, bloodied prize.
This was an ok stanza. I think you're to focused on keeping the content short and effective, but a few lines in this stanza could have contained a few more syllable's, at least in my opinion. I like the line 'I am the studied outlier.' It's a bold statement, and played out very effectively. The punctuation, however, felt misplaced. I bet you're trying to place emphasis on certain words and lines, infact it seems quite evident to me. Mainly, with the last couplet of the stanza. It felt weird, to me, at least. Perhaps consider a mild revision there.
System of strain,
I am not a student of the hidden curriculum,
Nor a precursor to yesterday, and the slave
You seek has a proverb rich in the fabric of us,
And runs from the spine’s split of our two pages.
I am juxtaposed to reflection.
I really dig this stanza, man. The last line of this was clever, that is for sure.
However, again, the placement of words made this read.. weirdly. I believe you should have added some sort of noun, most likely 'it' between 'and' and 'runs.' Just something so small would have made it read more fluid, and also would have placed more emphasis on it.
Fatherly Archetype,
Why do we capitalize your existence?
The laundering of genes, and pinstriped pants,
Your days are numbered until my clock stops –
The slant of simultaneous, obtuse angles
And I play Pythagorean chess,
Although the checker board is square.
This stanza was very intriguing. I love the first two lines, it was what made this stanza profound, to me. It's a question that i'm sure resides in everyone's mind.. but the way you put it down is pretty nice.
Albee and Shakespeare,
Killers of women and dogs, thieves of
Normalcy replaced with heroinic unics.
On to something, the scent of Puritan fear,
Supermarket beer, and the chattering of teeth.
Thank Man, god dropped dead.
Spineless books,
I’ve learnt your discourse from tiled walls
Scraped, scrawling w/ philosophy and cocked
Language that makes you want to shit yourself,
But you hold it in like the rest of the filth you swallow.
This Jung man of 19 wasted by dawn,
And put to sleep in a leatherbound.