One Cup - by Brian Edwards

One Cup

Sixteen swallows and the edges smoothed, count them: four before the bridge of thighs, eyes eliding whatever's on display—only way to keep from leaping through windows, over fences. Sensible to keep them fixed on the ground and ears on the sound of your own shrinking liver, as more silver slithers down the thirsty hatch. Another four between apartment blocks nine and nineteen, casting shadows longer than a prophet's beard. Weird to think of all those eyes in the holes, whole lives lived behind glass. Blasts of whistles mark departure from the next-to-last station, temptation of a chaser tugging at your sleeve, but time to leave freedom behind and let the party wind down with the last four slugs from the one and only cup.

~

Update on July 16, 2009 at 11:24AM by Brian Edwards

One Cup

Sixteen swallows and the edges smoothed, count them: four before the bridge of thighs, eyes eliding whatever's on display—only way to keep from leaping fences. Sensible to keep them fixed on the ground and ears on the sound of your own shrinking liver, as more silver slithers down the thirsty hatch.

Another four dispatched between apartment blocks nine and nineteen, casting shadows longer than a prophet's beard. Weird to think of all those eyes in the holes, whole lives lived behind glass. Whistle's blast marks your departure from the next-to-last station, the temptation of a chaser tugging at your sleeve. Time to leave and let the party wind down with the last four slugs from the one and only cup.

~

Update on August 14, 2009 at 6:49PM by Brian Edwards

One Cup

Sixteen swallows and the edges smoothed, count them: four before the bridge of thighs, eyes eliding whatever's on display—only way to keep from leaping fences. Sensible to keep them fixed on the ground and ears on the sound of a shrinking liver, as more silver slithers down the thirsty hatch. Another four dispatched between apartment blocks nine and nineteen, casting shadows longer than a prophet's beard. Weird to think of all those eyes in the holes, whole lives lived behind glass. Whistle's blast marks departure from the next-to-last station, the temptation of a chaser tugging on a sleeve, but time to leave idle dreams behind, let the party wind down with the last four slugs from the one and only cup.

~

Comments

[pete pick]

i like this. some nice echoes/internal rhymes, good rhythm, a narrative which tells us much about state of mind and some interesting asides.

[Brian Edwards]

Thanks Pete. Let me know if you hear any places that could be tightened.

B.

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[pete pick]

whistle blasts rather than blasts of whistles? but then for the rhythm it would have to be 'mark our departure' or similar..... i have been looking at the last little bit too, i'm not quite happy with it, but i can't think of how it might be improved and keep the internal rhyme structure.

[Brian Edwards]

Slight edit to the ending. Previously it read

but time to leave freedom behind, as the party winds down

Thanks for coming back Pete. Whistle's blast does sound better I think . . . shall ponder. Cheers.

B.

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[pete pick]

yes, i prefer that, brian. it seems loose but it's got its structure in place, it's difficult to cut bits about.

[pete pick]

i slightly miss 'behind'/'wind' in the last line, the trouble with chipping away at something with such a strong internal structure is that removing one part undermines another. but overall i do think it's improved, and a very strong, lively piece.

[Brian Edwards]

I hear what you're saying Pete. I miss it too, the reason for the deletion being more to do with "freedom" which bothered me. Shall think on it.
Thanks for the enthusiasm.

[pete pick]

i think this is the best version, brian.

[Brian Edwards]

Me too Pete. Hoping for some more responses before moving to portfolio. Cheers.

B.

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