Trying to find a gemstone in a heap of slag.
It’s sobering how much aggregate needs to be removed. The waffling gibber-jabber prattle that weighs/slows a poem down.
I redact, axe, edit, hack, hone,revise whatever as nothing’s precious… looking for the just enough that makes some degree of sense.
Nothing more. Nothing less.
A example of parring back might be this scrap called Stoked.