Hour 8: Solitary

I love writing poems that use this sort of framework technique, requiring a particular word, or a word starting with a particular letter, in pre-determined positions. I've changed the end word of my last but one line to 'your way', because I couldn't get the last line to work if the penultimate line ended with 'the'. With more time I'll figure out a way to do this with the correct word.


Using the first two lines from ORIGINS AND HISTORY OF CONSCIOUSNESS (1972-74) by Adrienne Rich
Night-life. Letters, journals, bourbon
sloshed in the glass. Poems crucified on the wall

I fear the city cnight-life,
its neon letters
featuring in morning journals,
with tales of violence fuelled by bourbon.

You were too sloshed

to persuade me to let you in,
your mouth could not form the
words you wanted, and I left you staring at the glass.

I'll mention you in my poems
your arms wide, crucified
like you were holding on
to the belief you could scale your way
back over the prison wall.

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