Maybe there’s interest in those sort of weird poetic works and I’m simply unaware. And my inner editor—that hellacious bitch—tells me that it is still too heartless and brutal a piece. It will only make people hide their eyes, bewildered and uncomfortable. Why must my art never bring joy?! Always the razor of reality, the clanking horror of consequence. I have something for that. I promise. Get ready. It’s in the next post.