Thursday, December 08, 2005


J.B. Rowell

I can pretend the world is listening, cares,
what I am doing over the weekend,
what I worry about, my small successes,
my auto-poetry, confessional, maybe,
my ex could be listening in, my professor,
husband, friend, mom, step-mother-in-law
or nobody at all, or an editor who lives
in another day, could chance to pop in
read my poems, like one, and publish it,
how unlikely. The flickering screen,
a changing window landscape,
and best of all, when you get to look
directly into someone else’s window
read their soul, or what they’d like you to think
is their soul, "choose an identity," choose
to connect with another chosen identity
what we could be building is a faux
collective of body parts, careful now,
we’re playing with electricity and fire.


Anonymous Anonymous said...

Who is reading may not be as important as who is writing. As one of the listed, your life and creations provide a welcomed consistency of sensitivity.

8:32 AM, December 08, 2005  
Blogger Michelle e o said...

I loved the ending line of this especially. You know I relate to this one.

10:10 AM, December 08, 2005  
Blogger reniebob said...

Nice to be back and catching up on MAAP. Your poem made me think of that Coke commercial... "this little light of mine, I'm gonna let it shine..." Keep shinin', girl. Good stuff.

6:06 PM, December 08, 2005  
Blogger J.B. Rowell said...

Hi anon. - I'm glad someone is listening - you're right, it doesn't really matter who is reading, but then again, poems need an audience to be real.

Michelle - I did know you'd relate, and I'm with you on the frustrations - thanks for reading.

Welcome back Irene - how was the trip, are you going to be in the next VLQ too?

6:26 PM, December 08, 2005  

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