Diamond's Improv':
There are no little girls here. Not anymore.
Lost to the swaying, amputated spirit
of these dolls--these many dolls that peer
from the mangled hiding places of trees,
wire wrapping their necks, that little girl
slipped off many years ago. They say
he took her place, brushing his hand
along their tattered limbs, running fingers
through their webby hair, so much care.
My Critical Commentary:
Diamond,
I'm totally pumped you deconstructed the article; it was creepy--but you've managed to ratchet the content's creepiness in nine short lines. I am all about the opening line; hooked. Nicely done. I know this is improv', so all the particulars of a draft aren't expected. I would, however, suggest expanding into a working draft. Make it a seasonal project, oui? If you choose to expand, include site specifics. I also would like to see more of the direct interaction between the 'he' and 'little girl'. I want to know what the hell is going on with these dolls. Why dolls? Why are they hanging from trees? As of right now, I am most fascinated with the final four lines. Give me more about the man. He freaks me out and makes me feel extremely uncomfortable. He sounds pedophilic and manic. Oh! What if you tried spinning this as a persona piece? Go all "My Last Duchess" on us. Adopt the man as your persona. Yes, a million times. All the private conversations had between the narrator and dolls, between the narrator and the narrator? Yes? Yes. Do it. If anyone has the skrillz, it's you.
Live long and produce poems,
Syd Tha Kid
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