“Grief is a world you walk through skinned, unshelled”
--Ariel Levy
I hear the noise of my own voice:
Prince, you’re a prince. A dog a man
in the commonplaces of the asylum.
All’s misalliance.Far-fetched, tenacious, captious: fan
in that narrow diary of my mind,
The ultimate American,
A cleft in your chin instead of your foot
Yet why not say what happened?
There is enough here to please a nation.
As sure as God made Granny Smith.The trees have more than I to spare.
Strange, not to wish one's wishes onward. Strange,
and fasten a new skin around it.
Let me study the cardiovascular tissue,
Ich, ich, ich, ichMy dear, it was a moment
I have to nudge myself to stare.
The garden's garter snake
who loves people and valiant art, which bores me.
Outside of us the village cars followed
Then told my parents, analyst,
If it's been good, be glad it's been.
Neither you there, nor coming. Heavy change!
collage/crowdsourced from John Berryman, Robert Lowell, Sylvia Plath, Ann Sexton, W.D. Snodgrass, and George Starbuck
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