Danse Macabre has a wonderfully relevant and powerful issue on line today; WELTKRIEG, could not be more timely.
I had in mind as I was writing this poem, something that would be, simultaneously, intensely subjective, and a problem on the level of language and aesthetics--the paradox of emptying the poem of the first person I.
Context has transformed it--I read it here and gasped. This is not my poem! I didn't write this! This is so much better!
The absence of specific context invited, what for me, was a whole new reading. But of course, I thought, conscious only of these abstractions as I wrote--how could I not have been thinking all along about death?
For me--a powerful example of how completely irrelevant the idea of 'authorial intent.'
Thank you, Danse Macabre!