This is more than it deserves, but perhaps it could be useful:
A man crouches,
Right thumb on his face
(This fools his competitors).
This means death.
Right here you raise several questions which, if the poem is to be successful, must be answered before the end. Why does a right thumb on his face fool his competitors? Who are his competitors? Why does it mean death and whose death does it mean?
(There is a possibility of explosion or fire.)
Again, why are there these possibilities?
Meditation: he sees himself.
(However great the intensity, the reflection is lost)
Refusal of the energy may be fatal.
Here we switch away from the previous set of lines. We are introduced to yet more questions. Why is it a meditation? Whose meditation is it? The man’s or the author’s? And where is this energy from; what kind of energy is it; and why does refusing it create the possibility of a fatality, and whose fatality would it be? (Are you beginning to see the problem with your use of passive voice here? You are raising lots and lots of questions, and I am beginning to fear you will never answer them. There simply isn’t enough time in a poem as short as this.
And yet another new section
Spacious facts:
Ok. Nice little pun. Instead of saying specious you say spacious. At least, this is what I assume since so far you have thrown me in direction after direction without giving me any reason to let myself be thrown around. At this point I distrust the poet completely and feel like they are wasting my time. So it’s nice that the poet realizes these facts are specious and irrelevant (nothing is relevant any more—kind of an anti-poem) and attempts a pun because after all:
“I found an article on the surface of Mars”
Still more questions. What article? Why is it important? And what does Mars have to do with it? At this point I know I’m being jerked around. You may not realize this, but that is what you have done. The author, it seems, has no idea what he wants to say. Maybe that’s the point. To fuck readers over?
Death must be based on the essence of energy.
And is perhaps the only effective weapon
And to this,
Very few are immune.
Oh boy. Philosophy now. As suspected, no questions are answered. There is no story here. Even if there is any wisdom in these phrases, I have no urge to try to parse them out because I have just been raped, literarily speaking. However, even though two wrongs don’t make a right, I am angry now, and want to stick it to you.
Death must be based on the essence of energy.
Ok, maybe. We’re talking about death. Is that related to anything above? Not going to look. I’ve forgotten that, blessedly enough. Still, “essence of energy?” Sounds like it might mean something. But what? Still, who are you to say what death must be?
And is perhaps the only effective weapon
Weapon for what? Life? Duh!
And to this,
Very few are immune.
Double duh. No. Quintuple duh. No. The duhs here can’t be said in a lifetime. (Get it?)
You can’t fix this poem. Your message is banal and it is surrounded by irrelevant half-images that go nowhere. Honestly. Poetry is not about trying to trick the reader or throwing up a bunch of images on a wall and seeing if they stick. Speaking of throwing up…. oh never mind.
Poetry is about being clear, showing things with the clearest images you can come up with and described in the most concise way possible. You can’t make poetry from google translator. At least, not this way.
What you could do, is look at these images, and see if they speak to you in any way, and then use that as the basis for a poem. But you have to talk to us about what you care about and what is important to you, not throw experimental vomit at us. For one thing, I didn’t bring my raincoat, and for another, I really hate having vomit spewed on me.
I’m sorry. But this really, really irks me. What are you? Fifteen? Eighteen? Am I being too generous in my age guesses? I’ll say it again. Poetry is not a game and readers should be respected, not toyed with.
I can’t believe I spent so much time with this. I hope somebody somewhere learns something from this diatribe. Wow. I can’t believe how pissed I am.