edit

write drunk with passion, edit sober.  how often is this told.  to the beginners, this is still something new. when does a stone turn? when does a thing become old from being once new?

and how many times do we have to edit ourselves?  revise and revise to make something new.  out from the old.  consider a lizard shedding skin.  an animal from an egg, evolving.  everything always

turning gradually into something else.  although: sometimes it is not always the new that works.  grandmothers say if it's not broken, why fix it?  jim said a poem is only really done 

once you've given up on it.  not a surprise to this day he keeps revising and revising.  and he stops sometimes in the middle of conversations to think.  no one knows.  some may have lost count 

after all the revising.  simultaneous revisions, all.  the young ones tire of hearing the same old.  lines.  always moving for new.  but who is keeping tabs?  and does it even matter  given 

we are a community of forgetful.  see how everything repeats itself.  yesterday, in a discussion weaving literature and history, do you see a pattern? repetition in different forms. several 

editions.  all that changes:  our positions.  places and decks from where we view the stars.  see how ursula once wrote a story six different times, in six different versions of worlds existing 

as we must do now.  under this particular sky.  why not write a poem then about rebirth?because haven't we all been told:  you and i, stardust.  and if there really is a constant amount 

of energy in the universe, then at some point of these all, you and i must have had shared the same soul.  how we must have drunk ourselves in passion.  then we edit ourselves sober.