Picking up Speed

I clearly need to pick up speed with blogging. All is well but I've had a lot of work on. I keep picking up interesting little facts which might be extrapolated into a blog post, were there time, but there hasn't been recently. Such thoughts have a sort of half-life in the mind which sometimes allows them to mutate into something richer and stranger and sometimes causes them to evaporate back into the intellectual ether. We'll see. Meanwhile, in an effort to keep up with at least some discipline in writing poetry, I've got a non-shared google document on the go and jot down poem ideas in ten-minute bursts. This poem comes from one of those – I've been writing a lecture on Confessional poets, including archetypal Confessional (by her own admission the ONLY Confessional) Anne Sexton...

The language of ellispes
is one she understands

her spell in the madhouse
had her choking on art

and the bland intervention
of 'doctors' who preferred

an unadulterated string
of words. Take with water

for a swilling of remorse
like the undertaker's daughter

who you saw, in a waking
sort of dream. Bed next to yours.

The full strength capsules
hang around her throat

making it all look pretty...
I join the dots you wrote.