In a black mood lately. Trying to think positively about this: maybe it's the sign of a new direction. This has happened before.
The poems written in the last month, for the most part, are well-meaning & workmanlike, but also quite stuffy, stodgy, giving the impression of forced effort. With a couple weeks' distance they feel alien & clunky.
Seems like I've lived several lives in poetry already. Sometimes the mountain seems too large & cold to move.
When I'm in this mood it's better for me not to observe the "scene" at all.
It's a good thing I can play some music. Five of us now: piano, guitar, fiddle, accordion, harmonica, jaw harp, saw (yes, saw), kazoo, jug, washboard, bass (have started playing bass, finding it fun). We're sounding very jug-zydeco-afro-pop.
Though this too is just a distraction... "nobody knows the trouble I've been."