Well that lasted all of five minutes, now i have something else to think about. You know my favorite thing on earth is when someone (someone whom you respect, like a good friend maybe) implies that they have some issue with you and then doesn't explain themselves, it's even better when it's on the internet. What the fuck did i do now? i'm sorry to all those that with "every word i say / offend in every way."

P.S. A totally self indulgent note on form:

(a quote from the first verse would have been possible to make grammatically correct, you know syntactically congruent with the text, but i am a poet, what do i know from rules. I did it all for the image c'mon the image c'mon the. image is nothing thirst is everything, obey your thirst.)... what????

P.P.S. One with a little more artistic intent:

In Cegep I had a teacher that taught me a beautiful secret he had long kept for himself: you just chop out anything awkward you want from a poem and it will still live, retrieving its limbs like a T1000, and it was true and has saved many of mine from becoming ugly pleas for some sympathy. He was a poet, a very awkward one, yet even then I taught him a secret as I learned it, all is poetry, and to admit these faults is to gain character like toughened men’s face skin (i fluff out my beard to look fierce and cover fresh bottoms). Awkwardness does not kill the poet but the inability to tell truths, it clogs, blocking up his great pore, a giant zit, and he suffocates on his own filth, a horribly undignified death. And so all I prune are the dead, not the dying, never the ugly. Poetry is alive and I will not force my will upon it, because more than alive, poetry is awake. It would be like amputating the leg the instant there is redness and swelling around a cut on the toe.