Pieces of me

Something strange I do not comprehend
Is this: I start to write a certain verse
But by the time that I come to its end
Another has been written that is worse
Or possibly better than the one I meant
And certainly not the same, and different.

I cannot understand it–I begin
A poem and then it changes as I write,
Never have I written the one I thought I might,
Never gone out the door that I came in,
Until I am perplexed by this perverse
Manner and behavior in my verse.

I’ve never written the poem that I intended;
The poem was always different when it ended.

- Merrill Moore