This poem was inspired by Sylvia Plath (of course) -- but I was trying to do an anti-Plath with the rhythm, which is to say that there is no rhythm. But -- isn't that what you'd expect in a poem that is about electrocution -- a deliberate method of stopping heartbeats? You decide...
Amnesia
I drop the raw, live wire, plugged-in
into the pool of water where I am standing –
grape lips, scorched soles,
wired hair, convulsions –
remind me of you
in your touch inexplicable voltage –
the amperage is what kills
(or fails to)
and still, tears scar,
or didn’t I know that?
a room thick with charged vapor and wanting;
flames jolting the blue out of my eyes,
and yet the color refuses to budge
amnesia was the gift
this was supposed to deliver –
I can’t remember your name,
but the longing
is worse
than ever.