Celibacy 6: I want this so to be

I want this so to be not about you.
But then I’d have to think about something
other than whether you think my thoughts, too.
Of course it is the thing I’ve tried to do
all week, to no avail. I tried writing
the wildest science fiction yesterday,
but it turned out to be even more true
than fact, like classic myths: what one can’t say,
but can’t not say. So every plot was due,
you guessed, to you. Le plus ça change, le plus…
The wisest writing mentor once told me,
“Write what you know.” But Creativity
dictates and will not be dictated to
—any more than Reciprocity.

Taboo

What else is there taboo to write about?
Salacious, I don’t mean; I mean forbidden:
The secrets you believe are safely hidden
by silence, that your eyes can’t help but shout
in spite of yourself to a soul like me
who then suspects there must be something there
besides what’s there: an imminent affair
that’s more than mere desire: one soul set free
in one new way, or many—that’s taboo.
Though who might be concerned with me or you
could only be a soul three times as sad,
eager to be, if not consoled, then fraught
by white spaces of poems penned to add
a little something to the world, or naught.

James B. Nicola is the author of eight collections of poetry, the latest three being Fires of Heaven: Poems of Faith and Sense, Turns & Twists, and Natural Tendencies. His nonfiction book Playing the Audience: The Practical Actor’s Guide to Live Performance won a Choice magazine award. He has received a Dana Literary Award, two Willow Review awards, Storyteller’s People’s Choice magazine award, one Best of Net, one Rhysling, and eleven Pushcart nominations—for which he feels stunned and grateful. A graduate of Yale and returning contributor to SoC, James hosts the Writers’ Roundtable at his library branch in Manhattan: walk-ins are always welcome.