“my nature/is a quagmire of unresolved /confessions”
–Robert Creeley, The Door
I resist autobiographical
Interpretations others imply
When they ask about my work.
I do not write to you, nor
Even for you. I am no
Placebo to numb your pain;
No multi-car pile up
To drive by relieved
That it is some other;
No prurient desire to linger
Over, dripping hunger
Like an open wound.
Yes, I write this; yet, you
Come only to see yourself.
(October 12, 2017)
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