Obscure Jude

I put whipped cream into my coffee When it does not taste sweet enough Splenda is off limits here And I usually can’t get enough Icicles are dripping just outside my window Only they’re not made of H2O And I only imagine the dripping— Create it with my mind They’re really made of wire And tiny bulbs of glass A plastic plant sways in front For want of a better view of the breeze To be disappointed by un-sight The wrong sense Takes her towards west In the wrong direction I am not Wallace Stevens, you Won’t want to read my lines I am not obscure Jude I’m obscure in my mind I am not vulgar, I am not rude But I will not get married And I won’t toy with the idea of Sitting here all day; that’s already been done I am not his creation But this mind is no myth I’ve been plagued in my skin Since the day of the scythe.