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,
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

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