Skip to content →

“There is a derelict intention in love,”

There is a derelict intention in love,

a chronic fabulation that never sits right.

One, two, or three might be the hour of regress.

Oh, there waits nothing like the distress

such plucked berries reprove;

they get under the skin, read Petrarch through Donne,

all dunable relations too much in hand.

Peter just has found a clever form. Might

his betrayal open sunsets to dawn,

spawn whatever conspiracy

two who have met on a bland

winter evening enflame? How artful

that appears, delinquent and delightful,

a thorough response to a lunacy.

from Disorientations: GroundlingsFind more by Jay Wright at the library

Copyright © 2013 Jay Wright
Used with the permission of Flood Editions.

Published in Jay Wright Poems

This program is supported in part by a grant from the Idaho Humanities Council, a State-based program of the National Endowment for the Humanities.

Any views, findings, conclusions, or recommendations expressed in this (publication, website, exhibit, etc.) do not necessarily represent those of the Idaho Humanities Council or the National Endowment for the Humanities.