I'm working on poems again, but only have fragments and themes. Trying to decide if I could be satisfied with one or two stanza poems, but they just look unfinished to me. I'm so verbose though, poetry doesn't really come easy to me.

I have a few poems like this from that first year after college. They all relate to this general theme but they're not meant to make one poem. They're more like a series on the same theme, but none of them are named or finished. I think the first one is from my chapbook so it has a name, but I don't acknowledge it as the true title. When I think of all of them I think of the first line of the first poem and even though they're not one poem they all claim some connection to that first line, "I married my body to yours."

The poems are obviously not about marriage, but lovers and lost love. That phase after a long relationship when it feels like cheating to have feelings for anyone else. That hold that your first can have over you, whether they mean to or not. Actively or passively as the ghost of your failure.

They're not vulgar, or even really sexually charged at all. Maybe that's why they feel incomplete, because that sexual tension doesn't flow through them. Lord knows I'm not lacking in it. That's one of those crazy differences with being in a happy monogamous relationship and being single. Supply and demand. Somewhere that happiness becomes contentment and that contentment eradicates the sex drive, but whether you are happy being single or feel miserably alone, you are seized with this sexual charge that runs through you like a current.

That connection between feeling civilized and feeling the shock waves of sexual frustration reminds me of the book I'm reading, The Left Hand of Darkness. The book refers to this in it's alien world as somer - 22 days of being sexually inactive and having no sex drive and then for about four days they enter kemmer in which they cannot prevent the release of sexual energy. "On the one hand, the limitation of the sexual drive to a discontinuous time-segment...must prevent, to a large extent, the exploitation and frustration of the drive. There must be sexual frustration...but least it cannot build up; it is over when kemmer is over. Fine; this they are spared much waste and madness; but what is left in somer?" (Le Guin 95).

Labels: instigate, poetry, The Left Hand of Darkness, Ursula K. Le Guin, We used to be friends., writing, writing process