Linguistic liposuction. Words are my opium, my Holy Grail, my Dulcinea del Toboso. Stop hoarding. Start purging. End binge. Launch fast. Replace forty pounds with forty poems. Paunch for poetry. One year. Go... (Source: "12 Steps: A Minifesto", 40x41: Midlife Crisis Postponed) Linguistic liposuction?!?! Believe it. You needed appreciate it, but you must believe it. This ...
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Lard clings to my jelly belly and assimus maximus, but melts away elsewhere. Bullshit! It doesn’t melt. That’s poet talk, and yesterday’s wine is tomorrow’s vinegar. Melts becomes drips becomes oozes becomes slippery. “Pare away pretty poetry,” I beg my puffed up parody in the mirror. “Stand up straight. Drop the mask. Shed the costumery. Lose the skin of the lion…” If ...