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A Final Manifesto A successful poet can indulge in a normal lifestyle: food not wrapped in paper, garbage removed, twice a week breakfast cereal from boxes, rather than bags and enough cutlery to feed the next-door neighbors. A failure is denied luxuries Not because he's poor: (since he must work another job, he is probably richer than the great poet) but because without the fast food and resulting indigestion, without the reek of garbage and social isolation, he has nothing to remind him that he's a poet at all. I know I'm a failure. I know it not by the rejection slips but by the cobwebs on the ceiling and the cat shit on the floor.
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