We read Louise Gluck’s “Gretel in Darkness" and discussed persona poems.
Where are we going?
Where have we been?
What is the meaning of this?
Who knows? Who cares?
I’d rather be swimming in butter than know the absolute answers to things.
God is dead.
No, he’s in New Jersey!!!
We know that we have want of things, that we know not what they are.
Prune juice. Automation.
Why do we seek what we already have?
The world is going to end!!!
No, it’s going to continue forever.
Answers that are vague are, by far, the most clear.
People that know what’s going to happen tomorrow are scarecrows.
Lemon juice. Apple strudel.
What we want for is what we already have.
Visionaries live in the darkest hour that I know.
I’m gong to make a command decision today to do nothing.
What we already have is almost what we almost always want.
The annihilation of the sense is the candy of the future.
Wax paper. Bed bugs. What we often don’t know is what would help us the most.
The final curtain is almost never the answer.
People who are confused should be our most cherished world leaders.
I think what we don’t know is probably going to happen.
Delilah speaks of need
Tell me what you want you
say and if I started the words
would unspool like crows
at dusk: a thickening line of black
nouns, of thousands. What
I want is red ribbons and kohl
and twenty pieces of silver, wine
and oversweet white peaches
and a place with a horizon
softened by trees. I want
the tricep of your left arm strung
between two nails on my wall
so I can study the way light
traces it like a finger even
when you turn to leave. I want
to understand your tongue
and the long twine of your braid
and the twelve muscles I see
sliding one over the other
in your shoulders. If I told you
I wanted to unhook the thin
rubber band holding the clench
of your jaw, to see your face melt:
as if you weren’t hard, as if
you could be touched, would
you still sleep? Would your back
still be to me? Would the vertebrae
still line up one by one as inanimate
and unsoft as stones? Once
I told you what I wanted was
to know how you were strong,
and you told me, and you lied.
Because you wanted me like
the woman I am: pliable and fleshy
and made of the thousand
feathery wings of wanting.