Making a home for my own poetry.

Lately I’ve been stewing about whether or not to sift through a  2 x 2 box of old writing: 12 journals filled with thoughts, ideas, poems, and crying  – some pages just have “fuck” written from top to bottom – to find a certain line of poetry I need for a current short story project.

I’d also like to get rid of a tub of  loose printer paper, match-books, napkins, old phone bills, whatever was within reach to write on at the time.  I’m tired of looking at it.  I want the floor-space.  I hate clutter.

So I’ve finally found the balls to make a home on my site for old work.  Whatever finished poems I like will go up.  What I don’t will go in the recycle.

And by the way: punctuation matters to me. I can happily spend 15 minutes putting in and taking out a comma (and change my mind about it the next day). Or ponder whether I like that  “s” in there or not. I like that shit. No, I fucking love that shit.

 

 

 

 

 

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