I keep sugar cookies in a tin
By loaves of gasping letters.
Animal print scabs clutch
At my heart, scurrilous stamps
Ripped from the corners
And taped impersonally
To sheets of college-ruled paper.
–
A warehouse claws
At the horizon with its filthy eyes
And I think of you blinking
In distress at concessions
That no longer suit our needs.
I hate you, particularly myself
But what is the difference?
–
The rivets carrying my smile
Have rusted and my lips
Ground into a fermented pulp
No longer conceal the teeth behind them.
Your mouth objects like boards over
An unthinkable and terrible space.
There is nothing to be said or done,
Nothing to be arranged or emptied,
mindlovemisery 
This sounds like a most distressing situation.
It is indeed!
So sorry to hear it.
I love how you use the words in ways I never imagine but that’s the beauty of the wordle isn’t it, we will always see different directions and places to go where the words gain our own perspective.
It is is Michael I always look forward to where it leads because for each person it can seem obvious and yet each person goes a different route
I was first thinking of stamp collecting when I was reading the opening gambit but I got to thinking about cut out ransom notes as well—
The line I kept coming back to was “i hate you, particularly myself” as I was wondering who the narator really hates
I think we hate those glimpses of ourselves we see in others. Thanks for reading X!
“I keep sugar cookies in a tin
By loaves of gasping letters.”
You really write the best openings of all the poets I read regularly. So fantastic.
The loaves sound Biblical, so I’m picturing the sugar cookies as symbolizing sweetness and nurturing romance but then I see the Bible open to the collection of Paul’s letters to the different churches. It’s like there’s a contrast between your desire for love/lust and your duty to remain spiritually centered and self-sacrificial. Your struggle spiritually is so heavy on your heart.
“Animal print scabs clutch” … This again sets up a contrast. A clutch is a woman’s small handbag — one she would take out of she were really dressed up, maybe a date or going to a party (hoping to meet someone, perhaps). But then there are the animal prints, which make me think of all things little-kid. Their clothes, walls, sheets, etc. PLUS their scabs. The needs of your children are in constant battle with your desire to have a personal life, a romantic life.
That next section, about stamps, makes me think of the way that my kids have always ruined stamps in thinking they’re stickers. So this is about taking things that have practical value and destroying them. Misplacing them. Perhaps they even represent your heart, or they were the bandaids over your emotions’ boo-boos. But they’ve been ripped of and stuck somewhere else, willy-nilly, carelessly. This makes me think of how much I invest myself in my kids, but when it comes down to it, they mostly don’t seem to give a flip about me.
So what is stored in the warehouse? Memories? And what else does the warehouse want to take from you? It already has everything, it seems. But still, its “eyes” are hungry. Or wait, not hungry, just evil. Scratching you out with its eyes. What an interesting turn of the phrase “clawing your eyes out.” It’s the reverse: its eyes are clawing you out. How brilliant!
“concessions” … I know what you probably meant, but I’m picturing someone working a concession stand. So either its a teenager, or it’s a teacher/parent volunteering and supervising. I just LOVE reading this whole painful, deep piece as being about a customer being upset over the concession-stand man being out of nachos or something. 🙂 LOL. That’s exactly how a poet’s heart gets worked up, though, isn’t it?! Hee hee. Deep and tormented about EVERYTHING.
In the “I hate you line” I think you’re using a general “you” to label everything and everyone, but what you hate most of all is yourself … because you wish you had better control over your brain … the warehouse? Maybe the filthy eyes are your own. Maybe the one ripping off the stamps and causing you all this pain … is actually you. Maybe you’re looking in the mirror.
“The rivets carrying my smile
Have rusted and my lips
Ground into a fermented pulp” … Sweet mother of pearl, this is STUNNING imagery!!! W-O-WWWWWW. I’m SO impressed with you.
“Your mouth objects like boards over
An unthinkable and terrible space.” … Carrying on with the you being YOU, this makes me think of you believing your head (the warehouse) being a terrible space that you try to keep boarding up, as if an abandoned building.
The closing lines carry such hopelessness. There is no resolution. It’s just, “here’s how I feel.” That’s all there is to it.
Do you know how hard it is for me to wait for you to post the next poem each night???
I really love your interpretations of stamps in the poem.
That would be fantastic if this were about concession stand! I am never going to read through this poem again without thinking of that lol I agree with you though poets can get deep and tormented over just about anything. Though I write with real emotions I don’t always put in real life situations, hell I barely put in anything concrete at all lol
I love love the section you have about the “I hate you line” because you really got it you know?
Thank you so much what a tremendous compliment! You are very motivating!
Interesting …the different takes on wordles. They reveal a lot about the way a person thinks.Your work is intense and personal …mine whimsical and cartoonish.
Good use of the words illustrating the confrontation with this other person.I always thought that you should have a good reason for hating yourself…if you haven’t …don’t:)
Thank you so much Cressida! I find so many people carry around feelings of worthlessness from childhood.
I thought of old love letters stashed away.
Love gone wrong…
The choices we make that our memories insist on replaying.
Best to move forward full speed ahead into the light.
I know about injured emotions as I’m going through my own issues with family at the moment.
At least we can support each other.
I am sorry to hear it Jules, family issues are really tough. (hugs) and thanks