SAID THE AMERICAN TO HIS ANALYST
[An interpretation of Said the Poet to the Analyst by Anne
My production is supremacy. Supremacy is like a label,
currency, or even like a regular tag.
I acknowledge I am only wrecked by the cause of loss;
as if supremacy was valued by a price on the mark,
forced up in front of astonished why’s and our communal
Forever I shall not remember how supremacy is capable of selecting
its species, of adding zest to them, until I grow to be
someone I might have been…
yet was not.
Your production is this scrutiny of my supremacy. I won’t
acknowledge a thing. I do my uttermost, for example,
when I chant the charms of a speeding-device,
that morning in Monaco: rehearsing how the thrilling top prize
came spitting out red stripes, over the blessed banner.
But if you should judge at variance with my truths,
I must grow fierce, recollecting how your looks were comical
and your language was ludicrous in due shape
of duly well-read lines.