Each of these seven bundles (of cardstock and paper scraps) is a poem-in-progress. This morning I revised for 45 minutes, poem after poem. When I work briskly in sequence, I avoid becoming paralyzed by perfectionism.
Bravo on your chapbook!
Wouldn’t this make a GREAT painting — blown up to, say, 9 feet by 15 feet?
I dig that phrase: paralyzed by perfectionism.
Add to that: hypnotized by hurry humbug havoc howls and hot air.
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