I signed up last week for the Poem-A-Day service of the Academy of American Poets.
That can be a real life-saver on mornings such as this 'un.
And as I calmed down, I realized I didn't like today's poem much. So I locked myself in the Computer Turret (one day soon, I'll explain the modifications we've made to accomodate slithering into that space from a power chair, with CRPS-flaring legs, a reconstructed ankle and elbow, a prosthetic hip, one prosthetic shoulder, and one shoulder gone missing... using the rope ladder/bridge strung from our small tower to the barn, now the Rehab Center for Carnies and Wayward Acrobats.)
And I spent several hours with George Oppen, renewed that love. Fred was good enough to ferry up a thermos of excellent coffee mid-afternoon, and the Marlinspike Hall Domestic Staff showed me the kindness of pretending they didn't know it was me up here delivering my usual arias of "damndamndamndamn" when the Screaming Ninny CRPS Dystonia Spasms showed up.
I'm in a sharing mood, as your current thought ("Dear Jeezus, does she have to share everything?") attests.
Courtesy of the Poetry Foundation, my intention to start a sort of poetry war action, and my outright theft of their holdings, here are Sections 1-22 of Oppen's Of Being Numerous:
Source: New Collected Poems (New Directions Publishing Corporation, 2008)