“Captivity”, or “Bondage” and the Tightness of Truth

I spent two hours last night
Trying to decide, should
I use “captivity” or “bondage”
In a poem.  Considering the
Importance of this truth,
This mad distinction, changing
Comma to a colon, then a dash—
Does every passion end
In such frustration, foolish to attempt
A verse, a curse—  more or less worse
Than howling at the full moon
Like a senseless wolf?

Upon reflection, it is impossible to forget
This redemptive urge to carefully select
The right verb, to find the word
That liberates an otherwise dense
Description, image, fragment of
Imagination poised precisely in the mind
Just outside of reach, where the breach
Tickles an interior intimacy,
To use a figure of speech, a….
Further hesitation as I pause to choose
A metaphor that tortures simple truth.

At 2:00 a.m., the dog said, “Come to bed,”
Her eyes revealed the protest,
A consequence of character bred within
The breed, the bone, the hound that wants
A nonliterary bed as background
For her sleep.  So easy how it flows,
It makes me want to weep, this drama,
This desire to cling, to dream, to beg
Until, head down, the puddle on the floor
Tells the whole story—  that nothing is worth
Writing about what has gone before.

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