I’m at home at my parents’ house for a few days and whilst sorting out a few drawers I’ve found a load of work I did at university that I kept for some reason. Mostly just badly scribbled half-notes about Heidegger and assignments with “57%- refer to secondary texts and learn how to reference properly, doofus” written at the bottom (neither of which I would bother doing the next time). But among the fairly large wad is a notebook with some poetry I did back then (I’d consider it the start of my poetry life, having done a considerable amount since, if fairly sporadically) and honestly I really like it. It’s a lot more visceral and pointed than the stuff I do now, and punchier, and it’s given me a bit of verve to do different things. Because a lot of what I’ve settled on doing now sort of feels the same and a little bland.