Put Down the Ratchet and Walk Away

I think you can take a manuscript and keep tightening it . . . and keep tightening it . . . and keep . . . until you squeeze the life out of it/smother it/shovel ash over it/piss on the fire. I’m going to stop ratcheting down on it now. And I’m going to stop mixing my metaphors. For awhile.

Or maybe I’ll just jockey a couple of poems around one more time/shave the length/take it to the mechanics i mean the doctors I mean the surgeon, the tree surgeon, the fixer, the baker, the candlestick maker.

Shutting up now. For real. This is me shutting up.

Now.

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