The Failed Poem: Variations on a Theme by Wallace Stevens

I.
Kindling.

II.
Carbon, torn into shreds,
mixed with grass
and potato scrapings and apples,
an ounce of bacteria.

III.
If only I could
peel the letters from the page,
like skin from a sunburnt arm.

IV.
Kite fold—bird fold—crane!

V.
I cut out its slipped thumbs
with an Exacto knife.
A thin scrap of paper
to crumple into my bottle
another day.

VI.
“Not that bad,” she said in a hollow voice.

VII.
The anchor I threw
into the Sargasso Sea.
A dagger in my salty hand,
I saw at the hemp.

VIII.
Scrubbing his brain,
he cleaned to forget,
scarring the nerves with lye.
He’d rather sink into Lethe
than relive the needle to his ego.

IX.
A seed on the sand may be picked up and re-planted.
X.
Blackbirds, if I strip the poem,
will you build me a nest
at the willow-gate?

XI.
They laughed and squeezed the clay
so it ran between their fingers.
The water was cloudy,
the stones were wet.

XII.
It floats on the waves until the words wash off,
and the fish who nibble on it
dream of the desert.

XIII.
“Really not that important in the scheme of things,”
I said,
and I closed my eyes in the sun.