OLD SCREW, NEW TURN
One benefit of my poor memory
Is that I get to write a poem again,
Forgetting what I’d written previously,
But going then where I have never been.
The subject or the issue is the same,
Yet once the beat and rhymes begin anew,
I find I’m chasing after novel game
Or following breadcrumbs the Muse may strew,
So off I go on quite a different track
With no idea where my verse will end,
For what’s ahead is hidden in the black
That lightens only as I round each bend
And, rhyme by rhyme, I find my novel course
Revealed, it seems, by some assisting source.