finding dim artifacts, dusty
from deserts of intention—
my mind of years ago
(other side of plenty rivers)
petrified in printouts
these dry seed-pods, rattle-trap,
those butterfly thoughts
pinned proudly to cards—
on what would they feed
if breathed back to life?
Graceful Press Poetry 
This is so interesting to think about, if dreams and so on of the past returned to life today—would we even want to feed them?
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True…there are dreams that I have deliberately stopped feeding. 🙂
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Perhaps they’d feed on new dreams. 🙂
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Ah…that is a positive way to look at it. I’m going to keep that thought with me as I continue this clean-out.
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Good luck. The thought of doing that here just seems so overwhelming, so I haven’t. 🙂
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Baby steps. One file at a time. 🙂
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🙂
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Sometimes when I’m cleaning I wonder “who was that person?”. She would find little to eat in my present incarnation. Where did she come from, where did she go…? (K)
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Exactly. It can be a very strange feeling to know I was the one who strung all these words together…and not remember much of that making. Of course, when the kids were young, I used to get up and write very early in the morning, so perhaps that’s why the details are blurry. 🙂
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I just seem to have blocked out large areas of my life. It’s a strange sensation.
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Goes so well with The Poet’s Complaint. Add time and growth and we might then have a real problem! 🙂
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Guess I’m writing around something again. Like a Spirograph.
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Yes. It can be like that for me, too.
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