Meta Sylvia

[just mercedes]

Stroke by stroke she rows into darkness
towards an island unmarked on maps.

Words distract her with incense and light words from where? Her mind, her thoughts.
or clay and blood. Space fills with language
no one speaks, vacuum, furnace, not only these; who are the no ones? Thoughts unspoken Thought you were alone. Sylvia is alone, with her thoughts, writing. Where did furnace come from and why? A metaphor for the process of creation
white noise like sheets over mirrors.

In the mirror an inverse stanza, outlined where did the mirror come from---confusing. Her thoughts
in obscurity; a scribble, a drizzle of soot – soot from the furnace? Traces left by the fire of creation
not frozen in space but flame-nailed
onto the white sheet page.

She schemes to carry this precious chaos why is chaos precious? Because it is the beginning of everything
to the island in a suitable chalice. Stanza
carves the carriage, the cup, chaos, what carriage or is it a canoe? The 'job' of a stanza is to contain thought and move it towards its destination
the mirror, and the island.

Big game roams here. She tracks the greatest,
captures him, writes his wrongs - steals him, did you mean "rights"? Congratulations! You worked that out all by yourself! captures then steals him like spring water not likely to be found in a desert? Yes, if you  like This needs work. Writing IS work - that's what the poem is all about
like spring water.

She’s captured him alive, tethered him
between parallel lines; now she milks him Can you milk a him? You've never masturbated?  what parallel lines? The lines on a page
in the desert, bleeds him carefully, Bleeding doesn't condense. Yes it does. Never heard of 'dried blood'?
condensed.

Then she launches her flesh canoe flesh means what? First stanza says you row, but a canoe is paddled. Her flesh canoe is her own body. Writing is achieved by the body. Paddling is a form of rowing. 
towards the island you never said you had left the island. The island, the stanza, is no sooner achieved than she sets out for the next one. Of course, I'm allowing for more than one stanza in this poem. Ig she trapped the greatest the first time what we she go back for? Every stanza needs to contain the idea, thought, she creates. 
all over again.

         The entire poem reads like a jumble of words thrown together. Actually, all poetry can be seen as 'a jumble of words thrown together' because that is exactly what it is. The skill is in deciding what goes where, which is the 'meta' or self-referential process of writing, which is what this poem is all about.