La parola da casa, Serena Piccoli

bells are ringing over the city this evening as i imagine water from the day turning into ice. i think of emerson as he says, “The other terror that scares us from self-trust is our consistency.” in my feigned inconsistent poetics rests a system that is overly structured but perhaps not useful, yet who requires specific use out of poetry--even though not to have it is to be without life. the “other terror” is rukeyser’s “fear of poetry.” ah muriel, i’m in love with you across genders and time though i am a sad lover meandering in my own logical myth (read as wittgenstein’s game).