My pack is a poem that rides on my back
Instead of the monkey
A concentrated cornucopia
Of the essential
Upended each day
Poured over
And edited

What fits where
What must go
The superfluous and the fashionable
False consciousness and infelicities
The false and the ugly

In the morning I pack again
And hoist it onto my shoulder
And so shift the chip
Now more compact
A little lighter

 

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