I struggle to change my attitude. I have an enormous
Chip on my shoulder and I am cocky. I am feeling into myself
Like this—the heightened flow has gone—
So I can no longer write poetry. But I am still self-obsessed,
Don’t worry (maybe the poetry is not too bad?
It is just not as deep, man) I am cynical.
I project misery on to everyone and blame the world
And I am feeling more and more self-hatred
Under that, and under this
Is another line again, because at least I am not masking my feelings
In other lines. I am still sketching around
And around things. My dreams are getting more and more bizarre and surreal.
The poetry is not exciting me as much, which is probably
Good; and I must be writing more clunkily? Oh well. Something had to give. I was a chip off the old block.
The line breaks and hanging line indents may be incorrectly formatted because I cannot be bothered to fiddle with the HTML. View the correct formatting in the full collection To a Blind Horse (and subscribe at the top of the page).
ashley dunn 
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