Many of the images in this poem seem to
contend with impossibility and futility (ex, rectangular circles, empty
fuel tanks, misremembered rhymes, etc.). Does writing a poem like this
remove some of those roadblocks from the mind, or simply confirm
futility as an element of the human condition?
This poem is fragmented yet
sequenced--and I think the ordering of the pieces was the most
important part of writing it, regarding this issue of futility
confirmed or denied. Ultimately, the choice was to move from an
intention--why not learn something today--to an interrogative
declaration--what if the whole world wasn't out to get you--with all
those images of impossibility/futility in between. Then, it is a
blissful surrender to these moments of potential frustration, which is
what writing the poem felt like to me: seeking comfort in a warm bath.
Oatmeal baths are a treatment for poison ivy. What is this poem a
treatment for? (Feel free to include a prognosis.)
This poem is a window treatment.