So, I went and browsed though the “old” sub-folders of my main writing folder on this machine. It’s strange the poems that I remember liking at the time are the ones that I don’t really feel any affection for. But, every now and again I’d stumble on one half remembered piece and be really pleased. Also, I find that I tend to like my newer stuff, no matter it’s quality, more than the older pieces. It’s probably got something to do with my inability to spend significant amounts of time around any one thing without getting bored. So, here’s a random poem from a few years ago. And, some musical goodness in video form.
The sketched patterns under leaves
will soon show themselves.
Perennial instinct to thin the canvas
another ephemeral work.

I argue that it is too much
in this area of the world.
All white, draws the eyes
away from the real focal point—
that ever lengthening line
moving outward toward itself—

ineffective use of white space
until it becomes clear again.

Michael Leviton(thanks Fabulist):