[I hesitate to post some poems because people can tend to get an impression from them that isn’t accurate and/or I don’t want to convey.  But worrying about how people might interpret/judge what I write is incredibly stifling.  Remember there’s a reason we call some things creative writing and not non-fiction.  And perhaps both terms are misnomers on some level.  There are elements of truth and fiction in everything.  And we humans, despite our (sometimes) best intentions, are bound to misinterpret, filter, distort and/or only partially see or understand much (if not everything) we encounter.  It amazes me how sometimes people write and tell me what my poems are about when even I don’t always know — or maybe I think I know, and later what I think I know changes.  We see what we want to see in art.  Often, as Adrienne Rich said, “Poems are like dreams: in them you put what you don’t know you know.”  If the poet doesn’t know he or she knows, maybe the reader should hesitate before being so sure he or she knows.  Often there are multiple meanings only some (or none) of us have considered.  But I don’t think a poem has to be 100% factual to be “true.”  And even if it is factual, it can be incomplete and even deceptive — like statistics.  It’s not easy (if it’s possible at all), even in a book length poem, to show the reader every facet of everything.  Imagination and educated guesses sometimes rescue us and other times lead us astray by filling in the blanks.  And I don’t think you can fit total factual reality or “truth” into any one box — or poem.]

Stream of Con

A stream of con comes from her daughter
and she swills it down like cold cheap wine
on a 96 degree Elyria day before
dropping a shut the fuck up power play
on her husband whose one and half lines
every four hours or so are too many for her
and laughs aren’t many anymore in their household
which she’s essentially sold to the lowest bidder
the heaviest hitter or best bullshitter
the one in the family with a large litter of unwashed
kittens who’ve over and over lost their mittens
to their one and a half parents’ neglect and
overall lack of respect for anyone who cares
whether anyone cares.

Shush Nesc

Nescience,
shut up!

* * *

Advertisements