the continuing stories of motherfucking revisions

so i had some poems published recently, which is cool. even cooler, is that now you get to see the revision process! hooray!, you exclaim, we have also wanted to see the revision process!

well, dear reader, you are in goddam luck.

so here is the first draft. i probably started it around 3 in the afternoon, but i am probably making that up. i definitely called jay deshpande around 5 or 6 and read it to his voicemail. and i definitely did some line edits before saving this draft. but this is the first recorded draft.

i shoot horses [first draft, aug 5, 8:49pm]

I shoot horses. Or, I have. I was born bad

or, badly. I have shot horses. I have stood on a hill

while the clouds were dressed up as a single piece of gauze

stretched over the entire world. I have been decked out

in diamonds. I have been a videogame.

I have been writing you a letter about my feelings.

My feelings are a single sheet of gauze

stretched out over the entire world. My feelings

are that single sheet of gauze as it shoots horses

full of bullets. There are days when the sunset

looks nothing like a sunset. I have been drunk and I have been otherwise

and not once have I wondered what life would be like

without you, or, without shooting horses. I have shot horses

in the head and I have felt both bad and badly.

I have ridden into the sunset. I have been writing you a letter.

It goes Over there is a tree and on the tree

are branches, reaching upwards. On one of the branches

someone has been hung, with a sheet

as a sort of declaration. Out here people confuse things

often. There are certain holidays not worth mentioning.

At night do you miss me? Is there an empty feeling

between your thighs or in your heart? Is my face

a thing you can think of with your eyes closed

or open? I am working a postcard that goes

Weather is shitty wish you were here

because it is fucking hot out. All the houseboats have drowned.

I saw it and it was beautiful and sad and tragic

and you would have loved it. I shoot horses when I miss you

and I shoot horses when I feel itchy and I shoot horses

when they look at me funny and when I say I shoot horses

do you know what I mean? I mean I shoot horses.

I mean the postal service is a hit-or-miss situation.

I mean if I was going to hell I’d have been there by now

and if the job market was a horse I’d shoot it to.

I have stood in the wake of devastation and I have watched you

undress from that sundress and lay yourself down to sleep

and I have cracked open a beer and bowed down

in awe to what is placed before me. I heard heaven

is a place on earth here with you is something

I saw on the back of a postcard and I have no response

to that statement but I will say that after I saw it

I went out and I dug a hole in the ground and I called it a lake

and I sat by that lake for several days. After several days

I was no longer sitting by the lake. I was lying in bed

and you were there and you were smiling and I felt my mouth

doing things I didn’t know about and I closed my eyes

because I was so happy and when I opened them

there were tanks rolling through the streets

crushing bicycles and houses and houseboats

were washing up on the shore and it was like beached whales

but even more tragic. Buildings were on fire

and then they weren’t. Your face was everywhere

and I was happy.

this is the second draft! some of the breaks changed, and so did the ending.

i shoot horses [second draft, aug 8, 12am]

I shoot horses. Or, I have. I was born bad

or, badly. I have shot horses. I have stood on a hill

while the clouds were dressed up as a single piece of gauze

stretched over the entire world. I have been decked out

in diamonds. I have been a videogame.

I have been writing you a letter about my feelings

and I have been drunk and I have been otherwise

and not once have I wondered what life would be like

without you, or without shooting horses. I have shot horses

in the head and I have ridden into the sunset.

I have been writing you a letter. It goes

Over there is a tree and on the tree

are branches, reaching upwards. On one of the branches

someone has been hung, with a sheet

as a sort of declaration. Out here people confuse things

often. There are certain holidays not worth mentioning.

At night do you miss me? Is there an empty feeling

between your thighs or in your heart? Is my face

a thing you can think of with your eyes closed

or open? I am working a postcard that goes

Weather is shitty wish you were here.

Last night all the houseboats have drowned.

I saw it and it was beautiful and sad and tragic

and you would have loved it. I shoot horses and when I miss

I shoot horses and when I say I shoot horses

do you know what I mean? I mean I shoot horses.

I mean the postal service is a hit-or-miss situation.

I mean I have stood in the wake of devastation and I have watched you

undress from that sundress and lay yourself down to sleep

and I have cracked open a beer and bowed down

in awe to what is placed before me. I heard heaven

is a place on earth here with you

but I don’t believe that for a second.

third draft. 2 and a half hours afte the second. the opening changed, some stuff got added. i get a bit manic with editing. whatever.

i shoot horses [third draft, aug 8, 2:26 am]

I shoot horses. Or, I have.

I have shot horses. I have stood on a hill

while the clouds were dressed up as a single piece of gauze

stretched over the entire world. I have been decked out

in diamonds. I have been a videogame.

I have been writing you a letter about my feelings

and I have been drunk and I have been otherwise

and not once have I wondered what life would be like

without either you or the shooting of horses. I have shot horses

in the head and on horseback and I have ridden into sunsets

that look nothing at all like sunsets. In my spare time

I have been writing you a letter. It goes

Over there is a tree and on the tree

are branches reaching upwards. On one of the branches

someone has been hung with a sheet

as a sort of declaration. Out here people confuse things

often. When I say let us pray I mean turn off the light

and close your eyes. Listen.

At night do you miss me? Is there an empty feeling

between your thighs or in your heart? Is my face

a thing you can think of with your eyes closed

or open? I am working a postcard that goes

Weather is shitty wish you were here.

Last night all the houseboats drowned.

I saw it and it was beautiful and sad and tragic

and you would have loved it, I swear. This is all to say

in the freezer I left a TV and a dinner

that I’d like you to keep safe for me

if it’s not too much trouble

because I would hate to be an imposition.

Today I am going to get up in the morning and stand

in front of a mirror and draw on a fine and glorious beard

and compose my eyes in the manner of a man

who has done some things, let me tell you.

That was a lie. I am not going to tell you about them.

Let’s go back. I wrote you a post card

and it was thoughtful and after that I mailed it

and after I shot some horses because when I shoot

I shoot horses and when I miss I shoot horses

and when I say I shoot horses

do you know what I mean? I mean I shoot horses.

I mean the postal service is a hit-or-miss situation.

I mean to say I have stood in the wake of devastation and I have watched you

undress from that sundress and lay yourself down to sleep

and I have cracked open a beer and bowed down

in awe to what is placed before me. I heard heaven

is a place on earth here with you

but I don’t believe that for a second.

twelve hours later, we get the fourth draft. in the fourth draft the ending is new, the opening changes, other stuff does too! it is possible you are saying to yourself, but sasha, what were you trying to do with these revisions? what was your guiding light? i will tell you: my goal in revising is to make the poem awesome. i want it to be closer to awesomeness. i want it to be a thing that punches you in the heart with sadness and awesomeness. and so that is how i revise. for awesomeness and maximum feelings. sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't.

i shoot horses [fourth draft, aug 8, 2:40 pm]

I shoot horses. Or, I have.

I have shot horses. I have stood on a hill

and I have been decked out in diamonds.

I have been a videogame. I have been an implement of peace.

I have been writing you a letter about my feelings.

I have been drunk and I have been otherwise

and not once have I wondered what life would be like

without either you or the shooting of horses. I have shot horses

in the head and on horseback and I have ridden into sunsets

that look nothing at all like sunsets and in my spare time

I have been writing you a letter. It goes

Over there is a tree and on the tree

are branches reaching upwards. On one of the branches

someone has been hung with a sheet

as a sort of declaration. Out here people confuse things

often. It could be said

that that is a terrible thing to enclose in a letter

and for that I apologize. I will write you a letter

full of vast and uncompromising beauty

and I will ask you some questions like

At night do you miss me? Is there an empty feeling

between your thighs or in your heart? Is my face

a thing you can think of with your eyes closed

or open? When I say let us pray I mean turn off the light

and close your eyes. I am working on a postcard that goes

Weather is shitty wish you were here.

I am going to get up in the morning and stand

in front of a mirror and give myself a fine and glorious beard

and compose my eyes in the manner of a man

who has done some things, let me tell you.

I mean I went out last night and I shot some horses

and then I shot some more and they just kept on piling up

until I had a mountain of shot up horses there in front of me

just bleeding and crying for miles on end

and it was the most awful thing I have ever seen.

I mean to say I am a terrible person who has done terrible things

and it’s possible that I greatly misunderstand the concept of remorse.

I mean that I love you and I miss you and when I close my eyes

all I can see is your face encircled with fire.

I mean that I have watched you

undress from that sundress and lay yourself down to sleep

and I have cracked open a beer and bowed down

in awe to what is placed before me. I heard heaven

is a place on earth here with you

but I don’t believe that for a second.

In the middle of the night all the houseboats drowned

I saw it and it was beautiful and sad and tragic

and you would have loved it, I swear.

fifth draft. sometimes i go more for the sadness and the resignation at times.

i shoot horses [fifth draft, aug 9, 5:59pm]

I shoot horses. Or, I have.

I have shot horses. I have stood on a hill

and written you a long and involved letter

regarding my feelings. I have been drunk

and I have been otherwise

and not once have I pondered what life would be like

without either you or the shooting of horses.

If you were wondering about my accomplishments

I would say I have shot horses in the head and on horseback

and I have ridden into sunsets that look nothing at all like sunsets

and I wrote you a letter on my palm. It goes

In the middle of the night all the houseboats drowned

and I saw it. It was beautiful and sad and tragic

and you would have loved it, I swear. After that

I sent you a love letter straight to your heart

full of a vast, uncompromising beauty

and also some questions like At night do you miss me?

Is there an empty feeling between your thighs

or in your heart? Is my face a thing you can think of

with your eyes closed or open?

When I say let us pray I mean turn off the light

and close your eyes. I am working on a postcard that goes

Weather is shitty wish you were here

so we could walk together, arm in arm

down a poorly lit street

in the middle of the night

through a terrible part of town.

If you asked me how I spend my days

I’d tell you. I spend my days shooting horses

and picturing you standing before me,

in a field of amber wheat

near an infinitely mountainous mountain,

and dressed up in a sundress, and smiling.

In the evenings I take my supper and sweep up as needed.

In the mornings I stand in front of a mirror

and give myself a fine and glorious beard

and compose my eyes in the manner of a man

who has done some things, let me tell you.

Last night I went out in the yard and I shot some horses

and then I shot some more and they just kept on piling up

until I had a mountain of shot up horses there in front of me

just bleeding and crying for miles on end

and it was the most awful thing I have ever seen.

I mean to say I am a terrible person who has done terrible things

and it’s possible that I greatly misunderstand the concept of remorse.

I mean that I love you and I miss you and when I close my eyes

all I can see is your face encircled with fire.

I mean that I have watched you

undress from that sundress and lay yourself down to sleep

and I have cracked open a beer and bowed down

in awe to what is placed before me. I once heard that heaven

is a place on earth here with you

but I don’t believe that for a second. Out here

the mountain of bleeding horses weeps

and the tumbleweeds tumble

and the drunks get drunk

and the sun sets on all of us

and I have carved your name and likeness upon the face of the earth

and that’s just how it is.

i tried to trim it down in the sixth draft. i figured if i had the stuff that seemed more important then i could just make the rest of it more important later.

i shoot horses [sixth draft, aug 27, 5:08pm]

I shoot horses. Or, I have.

I have shot horses. I have stood on a hill

and written you a long and involved letter

regarding my feelings. I have been drunk

and I have been otherwise

and not once have I pondered what life would be like

without either you or the shooting of horses.

If you were wondering about my accomplishments

I would say that I have shot horses in the head and on horseback

and I have ridden into sunsets that look nothing at all like sunsets.

I mean to say I am a terrible person who has done terrible things

and it’s possible that I greatly misunderstand the concept of remorse.

In the middle of the night all the houseboats drowned

and I saw it. It was beautiful and sad and tragic

and you would have loved it, I swear.

I mean that when I close my eyes

all I can see is your face encircled with fire.

I mean that I have watched you

undress from your sundress and lay yourself down to sleep

and I have cracked open a beer and bowed down

in awe to what is placed before me. I once heard that heaven

is a place on earth here with you

but I don’t believe that for a second.

If you asked me how I spend my days

I’d tell you. I spend my days shooting horses

and picturing you standing before me,

in a field of amber wheat

near an infinitely mountainous mountain,

and dressed up in you sundress and smiling

and in the evenings I take my supper and sweep up as needed.

In the mornings I stand in front of a mirror

and give myself a fine and glorious beard

and compose my eyes in the manner of a man

who has done some things, let me tell you.

Last night I went out in the yard and I shot some horses

and then I shot some more and they just kept on piling up

until I had a mountain of shot up horses there in front of me

just bleeding and crying for miles on end

and it was the most awful thing I have ever seen.

at this point i was thinking about jobs and such, and i thought i would make jokes about being a professional. i would like to be a professional at things.

i shoot horses [seventh draft, aug 31, 7:58pm]

I shoot horses. Or, I have.

I have shot horses as an intern and I have shot horses

as a full-time position and also

as a hobby. I have stood on a hill

and written you a long and involved letter

regarding my feelings. I have been drunk

and I have been otherwise

and not once have I pondered what life would be like

without either you or the shooting of horses.

If you were wondering about my accomplishments

I would say that I have shot horses in the head and on horseback

and I have ridden into sunsets that look nothing at all like sunsets

and when I close my eyes I can see your face

encircled in flames. I mean to say I am a terrible person

who has done terrible things and it’s quite possible

that I greatly misunderstand the concept of remorse.

I am now going to tell you a story

to illustrate my understanding of the concept of remorse:

Once I shot a horse in the stomach

and out of the hole in its stomach

came a great feathered bird and I thought

very hard about setting that great feathered bird on fire

so I could eat it but while I was thinking about this

the moment passed and so did the bird

and after that I went out for barbecue

and it was alright but nothing to write home about.

If you were to ask me how I spend my days

I’d tell you that I spend my days shooting horses

and picturing you standing before me

in a field of amber wheat

near an infinitely mountainous mountain,

and dressed up in your sundress and smiling

and I’d tell you that in the evenings

I take my supper and sweep up

as needed. In the mornings I stand in front of a mirror

and give myself a fine and glorious beard

and compose my eyes in the manner of a man

who has seen some things. I mean that I have seen you

undress from your sundress and lay yourself down to sleep

and I have cracked open a beer and bowed down

in awe to what is placed before me.

I mean that in the middle of the night all the houseboats drowned

and I saw it. It was beautiful and sad and tragic

and you would have loved it, I swear.

I mean that last night I went out in the yard and I shot some horses

and then I shot some more and they just kept on piling up

until I had a mountain of shot up horses there in front of me

just bleeding and crying for miles on end

and it was the most awful thing I have ever seen.

for some reason in the eighth draft i thought i'd get weird with some indents and have the first line continue off from the title. i don't know why i didn't just have it be on the same line, with the title bolded. that would have been a neat idea i think.

i shoot horses [eighth draft, sept 6, 6:30pm]

, or, I have.

I have shot horses as both an apprentice

and a certified professional. I have stood on a hill

and written you a long and involved letter

regarding my feelings. I have been drunk

and I have been otherwise

and not once have I pondered what life would be like

without either you or the shooting of horses.

If you were wondering about my accomplishments

I would say that I have shot horses in the head and on horseback

and I have ridden into sunsets that look nothing at all like sunsets

and when I close my eyes I can see your face

encircled in flames. I mean to say I am a terrible person

who has done terrible things and it’s quite possible

that I greatly misunderstand the concept of remorse.

I am now going to tell you a story

to illustrate my understanding of the concept of remorse:

Once I shot a horse in the stomach

and out of the hole in its stomach

came a great feathered bird and I thought

very hard about setting that great feathered bird on fire

so I could eat it but the moment passed

and the great feathered bird that I should have cooked and eaten flew off

and after that I went out for barbecue

and it was alright but nothing to write home about.

If you were to ask me how I spend my days

I’d tell you that I spend my days shooting horses

and picturing you standing in a field of amber wheat

near an infinitely mountainous mountain,

wearing your sundress and smiling

and I’d tell you that in the evenings

I take my supper and sweep up

as needed. In the mornings I stand in front of a mirror

and give myself a fine and glorious beard

and compose my eyes in the manner of a man

who has seen some things. I mean that I have seen you

undress from your sundress and lay yourself down to sleep

and I have cracked open a beer and bowed down

in awe to what is placed before me.

I mean that in the middle of the night all the houseboats drowned

and I saw it. It was beautiful and sad and tragic

and you would have loved it, I swear.

I mean that last night I went out in the yard and I shot some horses

and then I shot some more and they just kept piling up

until I had a mountain of shot up horses there in front of me

just bleeding and crying for miles on end

like a flood or the slow progress of time

or a river of blood from a mountain of shot up horses

that covers your boots in a way you can never get clean

and it was the most awful thing I have ever seen.

here is the ninth. there were two others, but they are pretty close to the ninth. the ninth is similar to the eighth, but a bit different. i will let you figure out how.

i shoot horses [ninth draft, sept 15, 6:19pm]

Or, I have. I have shot horses as both an apprentice

and a certified professional. I have stood on a hill

and written you a long and involved letter

regarding my feelings. I have been drunk

and I have been otherwise

and not once have I pondered what life would be like

without either you or the shooting of horses.

If you were wondering about my accomplishments

I would say that I have shot horses in the head and on horseback

and I have ridden into sunsets that look nothing at all like sunsets

and when I close my eyes I can see your face

encircled in flames. I mean to say I am a terrible person

who has done terrible things and it’s quite possible

that I greatly misunderstand the concept of remorse.

I am now going to tell you a story:

Once I shot a horse in the stomach

and out of the hole in its stomach

came a great feathered bird and I thought

very hard about setting that great feathered bird on fire

so I could eat it but the moment passed

and the great feathered bird that I should have cooked and eaten flew off

and after that I went out for barbecue

and it was alright but nothing to write home about.

Here is something to write home about:

Hello. I love you and I miss you so much

that it feels like I am going to die but then I don’t die

and I have no idea what to do about that.

If you were to ask me how I spend my days

I’d tell you that I spend my days shooting horses

and picturing you standing in a field of amber wheat

near an infinitely mountainous mountain,

wearing your sundress and smiling

and I’d tell you that in the evenings

I take my supper and sweep up

as needed. In the mornings I stand in front of a mirror

and give myself a fine and glorious beard

and compose my eyes in the manner of a man

who has seen some things. I mean that I have seen you

undress from your sundress and lay yourself down to sleep

and I have cracked open a beer and bowed down

in awe to what is placed before me.

I mean that in the middle of the night all the houseboats drowned

and I saw it. It was beautiful and sad and tragic

and you would have loved it, I swear.

I mean that last night I went out in the yard and I shot some horses

and then I shot some more and they just kept piling up

until I had a mountain of shot-up horses there in front of me

just bleeding and crying for miles on end

like a flood or the slow progress of time

or a river of blood from a mountain of shot-up horses

and it was the most awful thing I have ever seen.

the tenth and eleventh drafts are just variations on the ninth, each differ by about 20 words i think. the final, twelfth draft, is dated feb 4, 4:08pm, all though i can guarantee minor edits were made after that, around feb 29/march 1, when i turned the thing in.

i don't know. if people want, i can go back and write more. this is probably a long thing that no one cares about, but whatever. who knows!