Palm Reading and the Poets (A Poem)

Palm Reading and the Poets

Plath was right: these are my hands,

i am the only keeper of my limbs

Berryman was right: if we don’t travel in the direction of our fear

we’re not even moving at all

Bishop was right: the art of losing isn’t hard to master

i’ve done it ten times over

I could list it in plainer terms than Oxford Press:

I won’t produce indices on end

I won’t beat biographies into the ground

like the dead horse—

maybe I’m the dead horse.

Because the way they beat me

The way the great poets wake me up

is like waking on tundra,

Alive and surprised I didn’t die,

but transported to a new state of living—

Where I’m feeling cold, awake, perplexed,

strangely submissive.

They can tell me my thoughts,

they can write me into existence.

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