1994 Contours, Crocks

See the final image composition “Contours & Artifacts” in 40×41: Midlife Crisis Postponed.

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 thirty nine was tumescent narcissism, forty is the fork in the proverbial road. It’s a choice. A collection of angles, or a bulging belly? Sparse precision or bloat?


This is NOT it. This is the adventure. This is the story. This is the end of the beginning.


(Source: “On Turning Forty”, 40×41: Midlife Crisis Postponed)

Ready for a bellicose, cavalier, split personality rant? This left-brain-talking-to-the-right-brain-talking-to-the-gut remix is the concluding stanza of “On Turning Forty“. It’s self-flagellation. It’s tough love. It’s a war cry.

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