Rough drafts [and the people who do not love them].

Don't tell anybody, but my closets are disastrous, and my files of poems are even more disorganized. With my closets, sometimes I toss stuff (boots, etc) in there and just turn my back and slam the door and hope for the best. Mind you, that is very much not my standard operating procedure for anything else in my life. Sure, my office(s) are messy, but that's because I have a shitload of work, not because I'm sloppy.

So here I am with a landslide of poems that are 65% rough drafts (as in, some came out more finished or are revised, so I have sent them out) and I need to at least get them their immunizations and have their claws trimmed (cancel that) and ready them for the showroom. But it's just so daunting. There are so many of them. What if they overpower me? There's so much revising to do, which means that I got something wrong the first time around.

And then I find something like the above, which was waiting on the counter at the post office this morning, and it all seems so incredibly worthwhile.