watching the wind fly by
11/02/2006 05:24 a.m.
it's been a completely dry couple of months for me, creatively. every time i start to write something i have to stop myself because i've become completely self conscious about the process. i used to be able to write without any regard to anything, and while it produced a lot (and i mean A LOT) of crap, occasionally i would churn out one that was good. the sheer volume of everything i wrote basically insured that SOMETHING would be worth reading, if i wrote enough- and i got by very well on that for pretty much the last 4 or so years. starting last year though, and now completely this year, i can't write anything because i doubt myself at the first word. in trying to find and define my voice, i've completely lost it. it's exhausting to write a poem of any quality these days. i can still churn them out, but i never exhibit them much here anymore, because they all sound like the same vague collection of rediculous imagery with no cohesion. only when i lack the energy to be hypercritical of myself (extremely late at night- 4am-ish) does something get out that doesn't seem to sound like that. i've become Ouroboros- just going around on myself.

the words elude me so, but the
wind speaks persistently
and insists that i listen;
i can not think when she speaks-
but nonetheless she whistles through the trees.

and how appropriate that on this hallows eve
the first snowflakes fall
as from my window
i watch her fly by in circles,
and for the first time realize
that the currents pushing the words
ever out of my reach
are composed of my own breath.

that's the best i've gotten in.. a long time. that's probably all you'll get from me for the rest of the year. enjoy.
I am currently O.K.