Yesterday afternoon I was going through some papers, the massive mess of papers that has accumulated on the shelf underneath our glass topped living room table that stares at me constantly as a reminder of what a disorganized pack rot of a slob I am, and I came across a poem, and I wasn’t sure if it was a completed poem, one I’d actually performed somewhere or included in a book or presented in any way for public consumption.
So, I resolved to look into that but had, at the moment, places I had to go.  Last evening I looked for it again and couldn’t find it.  Went through all my old notebooks, found a great many things that needed to be thrown away, but I didn’t find that and went to bed with the feeling that maybe I was losing my mind a little bit.  (just a little bit.  Actually, I’m quite used to losing things and slept quite pleasantly)
Now, we have to leave in about 10 minutes to go to the cottage but I decided to have another search.  Still didn’t find it because I’m pretty sure the thing I was looking for was written in pen and ink (what a silly, redundant phrase) and that’s part of the reason I don’t know if it was ever completed, but I did find another very long poem, along with two or three short ones, all good, and checked my last two books and didn’t find them in there so either they are very old, like over two years, or I’ve never published them, so that’s cool, a little hidden treasure found among the clutter, but the other one is still out there.


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