Eleven More American Women Poets in the 21st Century: Poetics Across North America

Dear Prisoner

390 | Eleven More American Women Poets in the 21st Century at night as a child. Above the very ground of our writing (even as power poles were falling on volvos). My husband equally popular with women of all ages. His nail parings, his running legs, his scriptoria. O his ludic hard head. Who cut down his own hair with a bone-handled knife. His rack of gorgeous unworn ties. My husband touching even the insular men; whenever fear bred its mushrooms under rugs, a cleaning frenzy commenced. Our bed irrigated with my blood. Watching me burn from within; tendering his cross pen. O predominately white guilt. Whenever it rained from One Big Self: An Investigation Dear Prisoner, I too love. Faces. Hands. The circumference Of the oaks. I confess. To nothing You could use. In a court of law. I found. That sickly sweet ambrosia of hope. Unmendable Seine of sadness. Experience taken away. From you. I would open. The mystery Of your birth. To you. I know. We can Change. Knowing. Full well. Knowing. It is not enough. Poetry Time Space Death I thought. I could write. An exculpatory note. I cannot. Yes, it is bitter. Every bit of it, bitter. The course taken by blood. All thinking Deceives us. Lead (kindly) light. Notwithstanding this grave. Your garden. This cell. Your dwelling. Who is unaccountably free. ...