And perhaps there is a bedroom in my bed, a pillowcase in my pillow. No pictures exist of me from that time. Watch your head, this is a graveyard. The way the chocolatier regards their dripping medium in the television advertisement. Are you sure that isn’t you singing in the background. Are you sure you’re still reading. Watch your headnotes, they’re beginning to summarize your major contributions to hermeneutics, the sound of the frozen pond complaining beneath the geese who have the advantage of being able to fly when the structure sleepwalks. I walk into my bed and close the door. What door. Are you sure that isn’t you signing the document. The sonnets are merely markers serving to indicate that you are still in a graveyard. This is NPR.
[And perhaps there is a bedroom in my bed,]
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[And perhaps there is a bedroom in my bed,] from ACCORDING TO THE PLAT THEREOF: by Alex Tretbar.
Published by Ethel in 2025.
Copyright © 2025 by Alex Tretbar.
Poem first appeared in Poetry Online on August 30, 2024.
All rights reserved.
Reproduced by Poetry Daily with permission.
Alex Tretbar is a Midwestern writer and educator. He is the author of the chapbooks toofarwandered (Tilted House, 2026), According to the Plat Thereof (Ethel, 2025), and Kansas City Gothic (Broken Sleep, 2025). His novella-poem Dogsmind is forthcoming from Dead Mall Press in the fall of 2026. Recent poems, fiction, and nonfiction have appeared in Annulet, Cleveland Review of Books, Fence, Grotto, Hearsay, P-QUEUE, and others. Alongside students, alumni, and faculty from the University of Missouri-Kansas City, he teaches creative writing at Chillicothe Correctional Center, a women’s prison in Missouri.
According to the Plat Thereof is interested in bodies, names, and the spaces through which they circulate. The construct of "the speaker of the poem" becomes a vehicle for discovery, body-swap, escape, and voyage. Jagged sonnets compete with and interrupt themselves. Urban and pharmaceutical design intersect beneath the same stoplight. "Unbodied" poems sit blankly beneath the titles that designate them like usernames. In the face of institutional exhaustion, the voice toggles between presence and vanishment. Like the plat of the book's title, the speakers of these poems are cartographical.
“Titles, like frames, occupy a space that is at once part of the piece and outside it, which is another way of saying that titles are the edge at which the story meets the world. For most written works, titles are all one ever sees of them, the rest of the work remaining concealed behind a book cover or beneath the white space that serves to separate title from work. They are both outside the work and the outside of the work, separate from it and fundamental to our perception of it. Other parts of a work can be attributed, variously, to characters or speakers or narrators, but who speaks the title?
These six unbodied poems—one of which is titleless—take advantage, in what I want to call a Holzerian fashion, of the nonspace of the title, a voice that comes from nowhere and no one and is therefore impossible to ignore. They are, of course, a lot of fun.”
—James Tadd Adcox, Managing Editor, Always Crashing, on the "unbodied" poems of According to the Plat Thereof
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