My memory is leaving me---or
I just don't respect it enough.
I've written things in haste while listening
to angry chick music, listening to Joni
Mitchell, listening to Al Green, listening
to that springy child prodigy show off,
Mozart.
I don't remember what I wrote.
And then I write it again the exact
same way.
Pound would say that's just bad writing.
That I've only got one good poem in me
and I'm writing it over and over in
mediocre ways.
I know the words, I've written them before.
I laugh the same way when I wrote
them down the first time.
My memory is in cahoots with my
sanity and they are laughing at my
madness. They shake their heads
as Joni and I search and grasp for
that one good poem.
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