Day 8 Prompt:  Argue with a dead poet.  Choose a poem and argue with it.  I thought this would be easy.  I chose “Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird” by Wallace Stevens.  A simple argument–that there are more ways than 13.  Just a really good excuse to play with Wallace Stevens.  Also, typing fast.  Stream of consciousness, without over-thinking.  I may re-make this poem every few months just for the exhilaration of writing without the agony of processing.

XIV
Okay, the blackbird is involved
in what I know.
But the blackbird
is the Secret-keeper.

XV
And when the shadow
passed across the field,
I looked up into the face of the blackbird.

XVI
In your voice, when you said,
“Betrayal,” I heard the blackbird’s song.

XVII
Tomorrow I will search the wood
for blackbird’s feather.

XVIII
When I am grieving,
blackbird is there.
When I am satisfied,
blackbird is singing.

XIX
A fly on the wall,
a blackbird in the trees.

XX
I carried a small jet stone
in my palm,
the eye of the blackbird.

XXI
There in the scarlet maple,
a blackbird is dreaming of me.

XXII
She waited until he had stolen
softly into the room.
Her words flew at him,
a thousand blackbirds
without mercy.

XXIII
Mercy is the blackbird’s name.

XXIV
When you flew into the center
of those circles,
you spoke my name and blackbird’s.

XXV
Why did you wander so long
without the shadow of blackbird
for comfort?

XXVI
I do not know what I am writing.
I do not know my name.
I do not hear the wind spilling secrets across the valley.
Blackbird will tell you why.

XXVII
We journeyed far from home.
Blackbird followed us mile for mile.

XXVIII
Why do you search my words for meaning?
Blackbird means blackbird.
Blackbird means everything but blackbird.

XXIX
When the hurricane had passed,
the houses of the small town
were reduced to rubble.
Trees flooded the streets.
A thousand blackbirds sat witness
in their branches.

XXX
I’ve said my prayers,
pulled up the covers.
Blackbird wraps her wings around me.

XXXI
In the heart of the fire
winked blackbird’s eye.

XXXII
My name is Blackbird.
My voice is a snowflake in the wind.
I cannot see but by touch.

XXXIII
A grain of sand is larger
than blackbird’s eye.
Her feathers are heavy
as glass.

XXXIV
Be-bop-a roo-bop,
blackbird on the wing.
Sha-na-na.

XXXV
My love is muddled,
my heart is torn.
I will love the whole world
if blackbird will sing while I dance.

XXXVI
Hold out your hands.
Breathe upon your open palms.
Open your eyes and open them again.
Blackbird will rise from your clenched fingers
into the clear air.

XXXVI
Don’t say it.
Just don’t say it.
Blackbird will hear you.

XXXVII
The falcon swung high
in the dusky sky,
pivoted and swooped
into a dive
To clutch a blackbird in its talons.

XXXVIII
Remind me why I came.
Was it because you called to me
or because the blackbird
flew through your open window?

XXXIX
Let us review:
I know what the blackbird knows.
I cannot speak her secrets.
The blackbird will not carry your shame.

XL
I walked in the wood
until I heard the blackbird call,
and then I returned to my home,
my books, and my people.