What It Feels Like For A Girl

So I wrote this poem and I think I want to put more in it (i.e. make it longer), but I'm not sure. I really like the idea of taking one piece of art and making another inspired by it. Notice all the allusions. I'm such a modernist! Thoughts?

Williams' Ophelia
is full of grief and
a son with unknown
motives holds her hand.
It was during the
cruellest month, with
the hyacinths in bloom,
and no one knew
if she would return
from the marsh.

Copernicus

I'm not sure what I think of this. What do you think?

Joliet's under the rain
but you're stuck there
approaching Division.
two lanes of intermittant
traffic and you're stopped
on the side.
You exit, lie face down on
the pavement, swearing
you won't budge,
and you mean it this time.

he brings the bow back
toward his chest, pointed
toward the organ inside him
and behind him.
he repeats the notes,
underscoring the mood of
the crowd and thinks of
the organ inside him
and behind him,
the organ,
and the organist,
the organ player.

Good afternoon
Washington Island,
I'm returning your daughter,
she couldn't even
get off the bus.

"Wait a minute, wait a minute, give a minute..."

when you're driving home
you'll take a tour of
the hole in the ground,
it runs at about 80 cents/hr.
and your car will
travel over those
hundreds of miles,
the headlights doing
their best to cut a
swath out of the
pitch black of a
highway without streetlights
on its sides.
and when you're on your
way home, out to the East,
I'll look out in the night
and wait for the sun to rise.

Standing Still

things very pleasant,
the dinner made in
the kitchen,
the music playing
that falls on a line
between 'soft rock'
and what the kids
are listening to these days
the definitions aren't
so distinct, not mandated
things very relaxed
no one here's worried,
not overly concerned
no one is left lonely
in their thoughts
the present's the thing,
the presence the thing.

No Dice!

Trains from Chicago
And I think of how
I can't use "darling"
like they can,
it just doesn't sound right
and when I think of
wanting to be someone else,
I remember that they
don't call you darling,
and they don't have a
love for the Chef's Kitchen.
It's ten o'clock on a
Wednesday evening
and I'm sitting here
remembering what
Washington looked like
eleven years back, in
the white shadow of Maryhill,
O Klickitat, you have
remembered too.
It's a cold winter evening
and I think about
reading on the front lawn
and remember that I
never finished that tale.
And I think of how
I like watching the audience
that doesn't react,
it just makes me feel better
and when I think of
wanting to be something else,
I remember that
the Thinker used to be the Poet,
and it has never
been to Bronson.