poetryrepairs #204 14.09:103
GABOR GYUKICS : rendering the view
TIFFANIE JONES : The Finer Things in Life
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rendering the view
someone parted the curtains to have a look at the stereoscopic world and got crazed immediayely via a suggested attitude of an offspring of a numberless laboratory who is setting in thermal dust this fact is a wild profusion a nonoccasional confirmation it is not the saturation of a Persian turban during the annual ball of the victims it is a symptom a flack geography carnage the entity who is running all these is swimming in your hand

from A Hermit Has No Plural by GABOR GYUKICS
poetryrepairs #204 14.09:103

All the fine arts are species of poetry--Samuel Taylor Coleridge

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GYUKICS GABOR writes from Csepel Island in the Danube between Buda and Pest, Hungary. Hungarian Names place one's family first, the individual "Christian" name second. GYUKICS has been a regular on poetryrepairs.com almost since its beginning. We encourage international poets to submit poetry and prose to poetryrepairs.

You were just a boy at our courthouse wedding, doing vodka shots in the backseat with my sister, I a girl wishing for an accident, just a dented fender, enough damage to put off the vows for another day. Or year. What the hell were we thinking? The mortgage isn't paying its monthly coupons. The driveway doesn't empty itself of snow. Even the cat's fur won't grow inward to avert shedding. When your job as a business professor takes you to conferences to one of the coasts, I'm happy as a pig in shit. What the hell am I thinking? I could tear up those coupons, toss them on that snowy driveway, pack the cat tightly, and haul ass to the opposite coast in a car with a fender shiny and smooth and perfect enough to resist weathering of any kind.

poetryrepairs #204 14.09:103

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TIFFANIE JONES The Finer Things in Life
I have always wanted The finer things in life I wanted the perfect relationship With the perfect man So, I went out and found him And everything was perfect I had everything a girl could ever want Except for love He didn't love me He didn't even know how to love He was make believe Not real I made him up He was just a figure of my imagination He was perfect in every way He was everything I desired But not what I deserved I deserved to be happy I deserved love

from poetryrepairs.com v04.09
poetryrepairs #204 14.09:103

Poetry endangers the established order
of the soul - Plato

REPAIR: resort, frequent or habitual going; concourse or confluence of people at or in a place; making one's way; to go, betake oneself, to arrive; return to a place; to dwell; to recover, heal, or cure; to renew; to fix to original condition. -- O.E.D.

IRONY. TIFFANIE JONES presents a straightforward discussion of her desire for "Finer things", her disillusion with achievement of "finer" only to turn to what she "deserves" - "Love" the finest thing in life. Though the poem's speaker seems to have come to reality; but, she only returns to a rarer and more grandiose desire -ed.


GABOR GYUKICS : rendering the view
TIFFANIE JONES : The Finer Things in Life

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