Ideas

by Kathryn Starbuck

I was the lonely one in whom

they swarmed in the millions.

I was their creature and I

was grateful. I could sleep

when I wanted. [ah.]

I lived a divided

existence in sleepdreams

that lit up a silence as dreadful

as that of the moon. I have [why the moon? how is silence dreadful in that way?]

an overly-precise recall of

those solitary years before

I opened the curtain and drew

upon a universe of want that made [desire/lack. matter of access?]

me so strong [?] I could crack

spines of books [why books] with one hand.

[http://poetryfoundation.org/archive/poem.html?id=183227]
I think I may not like this poem. Say why.