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I got my mojo back
when I collapsed
and battered
and broken,
hoping you’d open
the door for me.


I have this fear,
which everyone has
from time to time,
where I wonder
if I stole my own thunder
when I was younger,
and whether my new stuff
is half as good
as my old stuff.


It’s the creator’s
where sometimes something
seems perfect,
and then you sober up
and re-read it
and it’s shit,
so you tear it up
and throw it in the bin
on instinct,
like dogs who cover their ears
when a guitar is out of tune.


Lock yourself up
and barricade the doors
until your thoughts
are fully formed,
then put the pen down,
walk outside
and live your life,
if you can
stand it.

November 16, 2015