UNDER THE PRATTLE
God help me, I hide in my skin
Lies, filched idioms, rags
all I've provided I've plagiarized.
to steal the creature inside—I mean
am I damned? We're some kind of kin,
my trespass. Your trellis incites
your ear to my chest, and listen—
"Under the Prattle" speaks from a place of fundamental humility. Or is it inescapable guilt? It acknowledges that my desires shape my actions and self-representations toward the fulfillment of my wishes, such that I am suspect as a manipulator. The poem goes on to observe that this must be true of you, the other, as well, and it then goes further, in the closing discovery, to recognize the authentic unknowable nature that is the source of our desires. My hope is that the experience of the poem can be a freshened affirmation of our natural longings.