Last Confessions of Sylvia P.

by Lee Kravetz

After I uttered two of the most misleading words known to womankind—“I do”—my disastrous tenure as a wife began.

The line between insanity and art is a verse.

I continued to spin the senselessness of my world into defined poems.

You taught me to hook into my mood and siphon it onto the page.

How was I to tell them that poets are such phonies? Sure, here or there we might have some valuable insights, but we hardly live by them. When you read us, you might think we knew something about life, but usually we are all just messes.