Voices

Well, time to take a breather after all the content last week.  This week I am returning to the Charles Street manuscript.  This poem is about writing, and the content and context of writing.  I think what I was getting at was the content of my writing is my own experiences and thoughts and those closest to me.  There is / was an element of voyeurism being a writer, you listen in and steal the thoughts and feelings of others to make your own work.
The only major edit I have done is to leave off the last four lines of the original poem because, frankly, I can't puzzle out what they had to do with the rest of the poem. They were:

It is the constant
oscillation
between hope and dis-
couragement.

Words, rhythm, triggering phrases
 voices in the wilderness
make straight the path of God   or
voices in the bed at night
   whispering.
Thoughts punishable if spoken
  or read
  or felt
said here in secret language.
The replies not made   the pleas
made in silence
  or not made at all.
The strengthened voices
coming out of despair
  or sorrow
    or ecstatic joy.
Such is what we do at night
at our clacking typewriters
  or at lunch on napkins   or envelopes.
Hurried scribbles while we listen,
souls vivisected.