[Written while contemplating the force of Emily Dickinson’s poem, I dwell in Possibility — (#466). Reading her poem this morning, I could not escape how different my experience of the world is from hers. At the same time, despite the differences, I recognize in Dickinson a violently antisocial tendency that seems analogous to one that constantly threatens to tear my world apart. This poem gave me a sense of both hope and warning… that the desire to close yourself off from (at least parts of) the world can be both constructive and destructive. The following is a reactionary riff on #466.]

l dwell in Possibilities —
No single space called Home —
No Windows, no Doors —
Enclosed — layered Glass —

Forced Central air —
TVs I can’t turn off —
Everywhere pixilated prostitutes
The Branding of our Selfs —

Thirsting Views — while the Wanderer —
For Salvation — This —
Beg your tiny fortress Candlelight entomb
To survive Purgatory —