Regression Progression
I am dreaming backwards
to see where
I thought I was headed.
I am picking up
before myself
for my former self
to dig into
What was I thinking.
Paused underpaintings,
near-empty staffs and bars,
fading
emulsions, and the
waterfall of words
detritus all.
I stumble under
the suspended toss offs
of a person who knew
each moment better than the next:
David A. Goodrum lives in Corvallis, Oregon. His poems are forthcoming or have been published in Spillway, New Plains Review, The Nebraska Review and other journals. Even before his early thirties, he was certain he would never write poetry again. He continues, it seems, to be wrong. About most things.
See more of his work in 10.1