Next morning

[Leanne]

Don't apologise. It's a poem, not a diary, even if the events really did happen. Which they might or might not have, but it doesn't matter.

[tectak]

Many thanks, Tom. How can a crumb be a smudge? Well, poetic licence, that's how! How can a moon be a ghostly galleon? Mushrooms and all that... Since that's a majority of two people who can read who don't like smudges, I shall remove. As to the run-on in that stanza, yes, I want them all to be crumbs. That's what comes out, even the elastic.
I thought about swapping the first two lines of the second stanza on the back of your issues, but have decided to just go with a full stop. It's incorrect punctuation but it's a poem, after all, not an essay. To appease milo I shall also remove the line that bothered him (to appease milo and because he's probably quite correct, but for god's sake don't tell him).
Online, there are many wolves and they are wild. Or so they tell themselves, before they put on their NHS specs. What's more, they act as if domestication and rules of polite society do not apply to them.
"until it stops" was meant to imply pretty much that... nothing happens to silence it but time, and running out of whimpers. Although you don't need it, it pleases me as a bookend and it's clear from some other readings that even with this much information, people demand more. I am no longer sure whether I should write to satisfy their demands for instant gratification or my fading insistence that readers will put in the effort if you give them the opportunity.
Thank you for your excellent and non-sycophantic critique (that's how you spell it, by the way ) That's how you spell what? Oh, I see, the aspirate aich. Is it crit the crit week?. I don't come here for a hot damn and fawning -- it's bikini season in real life so I get enough of that here

[tectak]

Many thanks, Tom. How can a crumb be a smudge? Well, poetic licence, that's how! How can a moon be a ghostly galleon? Mushrooms and all that... Since that's a majority of two people who can read who don't like smudges, I shall remove. As to the run-on in that stanza, yes, I want them all to be crumbs. That's what comes out, even the elastic.
I thought about swapping the first two lines of the second stanza on the back of your issues, but have decided to just go with a full stop. It's incorrect punctuation but it's a poem, after all, not an essay. To appease milo I shall also remove the line that bothered him (to appease milo and because he's probably quite correct, but for god's sake don't tell him).
Online, there are many wolves and they are wild. Or so they tell themselves, before they put on their NHS specs. What's more, they act as if domestication and rules of polite society do not apply to them.
"until it stops" was meant to imply pretty much that... nothing happens to silence it but time, and running out of whimpers. Although you don't need it, it pleases me as a bookend and it's clear from some other readings that even with this much information, people demand more. I am no longer sure whether I should write to satisfy their demands for instant gratification or my fading insistence that readers will put in the effort if you give them the opportunity.
Thank you for your excellent and non-sycophantic critique (that's how you spell it, by the way ) That's how you spell what?. I don't come here for a hot damn and fawning -- it's bikini season in real life so I get enough of that here

It wasn't the metaphor smudge to crumb
but by the extension you came undone.
The moon's a balloon or a galleon
but not both at once, unless in "fun".

The rest is up for grabs. I really do enjoy your synaptic swerves because I enjoy the "not knowing" what comes next. Too often L1 sets up L2 etc. and this can be tediously predictable. I think that is praise.
Best,
tectak