“I don’t sign up for the whole piano gushing water from its keys; or any of that… sentimental shit basically. But what I do sign up for is the wish to continue at creating unquestionably good poetry. It can’t be everyone’s, that’s ten times more than fine… maybe… . I just wish to Christ my mind could catch up sometimes with the speed and velocity, not to mention pure guts of my word-use. Soon as the writer can take away the feeling from their own addled brain of needing to be right or arseways with their pride and place of begotten prose, then that is when it really will start to work itself out. In other words, and if you do wish to get all specific about it and, to be perfectly fair this is poetry after all… it’ll get rather nervously sentimental again. Maybe writers are the most sentimental people out there, then, when it comes to the colossal task of taking creatives in general into account, but we sure-as-shit don’t wanna carry that crux with us everywhere: from the place where the magic bleeds, so too do innumerable agonies skate… hidden swiftly. See, this shit appears to be neurotically on tap for me.”