as the spring catharsis approaches, with the muse at a terrifying
apogee to the human heart, i feel the weight of my feet, the tide of
aging in my very cells, and a pleasant nether pleasure, like a
prostate massage-the kind of pressure a fat person gets in the private
region when inward-directed pressure is applied, but the result would
make me ashamed, i guess. I guess. Who needs groundhog day when weve
got the spring catharsis?