Safe from what or whom?
What we think we know . . . We are split - distant from
History shapes our bodies (ask someone who was whipped or branded). And our bodies are a history (ask someone who is old).
Is the body a museum - of bad habits, shrapnel, treasures?
Who's the looter then?
"You will destroy an empire," the oracle said - He thought it meant someone else's --
I dunno - an empire as pawn-shop does pretty well . . .
No love is safe, period.
Lack of imagination = pawned ideas?
a heap of secondhand broken images
We're "working out patterns" wreading this poem
war and translation often go together --> & the former can be metaphor for the latter
the sensitivities are lost in translations, as "I don't know but what . . .": the stranger will never use the same words
As if war is war; the body, physical and not a trope.
Who wants to hear that in a poem??
But we suspect it might be true - that 1400 people can die in a factory collapse. Due to negligence and intimidation.
Just not here.
If you really felt that, how stay sane?
At best, a mere conversation.
"Cancer is my default horror" --> the body's history splitting it apart
(sex is always news)
the body politic as real thing
people are relationships, singly or in groups
can't we hide in metaphor, please?
Go away, Myself!
call me up or out --
carry me over into
a place I've never seen.
Re: "Sea Body":
Those are pearls that were his eyes and wouldn't he have wanted to move the harbor at will, rather than be rich and strange five leagues under?
"This" can only refer to what's already here - so is it my internal compass? My faulty "moral compass" wiggling its point?
"North is whatever direction is in front of me"
This poem is going south - slip-slidin away, maybe
Experiment often takes you where you didn't think you'd go --> dangerous for the single-minded, the Ahab who will get sucked under into the drink from his own rigid steps
My what bright fish you are - finding the goodies of the deeps (unconscious?)
The water is waiting and wants you > "wreck" suggests "ship" (and vice versa?)
Davy Jones' Locker is another dog's kitchen cabinet
The gods made their victims into stars
Is "this" wreading "coming home"?
Or is home coming to me?
This is a poem about love
This is a poem about getting old
This is a poem about love getting old
Author of Things Come On: (an amneoir) (Wesleyan University Press’ poetry series, 2011), earth day suite (Beard of Bees Press, Dec. 2010), Of Some Sky (Bedouin, forthcoming), and Poetry and the Public (Wesleyan 2002).