Prototypes of the second floor

Hi Moonman, thanks for taking the time to comment on my poem. I really appreciate your advice and I've revised the poem to hopefully reflect your comments. I agree about the first part seeming disjointed...I think I need to improve my use of punctuation to make the poem read the way it sounds in my head. I'd be grateful for any pointers in this direction. Thanks also for your welcome email. Denis Johnson is better known as a writer of prose nowadays, but he started out as a poet. He has a great collection of short stories called "Jesus Son" - the title of which comes from a Lou Reed song. Here is one of his poems, just in case you were interested... Poem There was something I can't bring myself to mention in the way the light seemed trapped by the clouds, the way the road dropped from pavement to dirt and the land from pine to scrub- the red-headed vultures on dead animals, the hatred of the waitress breaking a cup and kicking the shards across the cafe that looked out on the mountain and on the white smear of the copper mine that sustained these people. I claim there was something you wouldn't have wanted to speak of either, a sense of some violent treasure like uranium waiting to be romanced out of the land... They sat under white umbrellas, two or three together, elbows on card tables at the dirt roads leading to the mines, rising each at his turn to walk around a while with a sign announcing they were on strike, their crystalline and indelible faces in the hundred-degree heat like the faces of slaughtered hogs, and God forgive me, I pulled to the side of the road and wrote this poem.