I’m having trouble making anything
because where invention once seemed

like piecing my own only head together,
adding new space with novel views,

now invention seems like taking my head
off my neck, exposing its inner workings,

a matter perilous from the outset in which
I’m likely to lose much more than I gain

I’m aware of an inhibition, a hesitation
that prevents me from taking the dive

so I’m left embarrassed with inklings
of what might be, of what might have been

My old ignorance that licensed my daring
has been replaced not precisely by knowledge

but by experience, thousands of flavors
composing and recomposing atmospheres

that have turned me inwards even when
I’m not aware and feel I’m looking out

To make something new when I’m
someone old, I must use myself as

preamble, go into what has been in
order to let it go, refresh itself, put on

a familiar costume that is yet fabulous –
I make myself new and uncanny, too

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