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.