Thursday, October 21, 2004

Between lost and saved

I think of the poems of I've lost along the way and damnit, I've lost some good ones. But then I think of it again and realize that I was also lost by some. And suddenly I understand that that's just the way the world is; some people lose things so others can find them. Otherwise, no one would ever come across anything.

But I lost some good poems, I won't lie. And often it was my fault that they were lost. I lost blonde poems, red-haired poems, skinny and chunky, pretty and ugly, nice and rotten, and I lost them in the morning and in the evening sheltered by the sun and the moon, and sometimes both.

I lost poems, I'm not ashamed. A man is who he is not by choice but design. So I admit my inability to hold on to the poetry because I'm no less for it. I'm more for the admission.

I lost good poems, and I lost more than lost me. Because the computer won't act without my command. And because sometimes I forget to hit save when all along, it was the poems that should be saving me.