T. Jonathron Remp3 Aug 2008

I still can't believe that you've been formally trained in the West Flemish iambics and spent seven summers in the Tamil jungles studying Mayan prose with Professor Gerald Parm. Your roots in classic lyricism have hereby dried, and what is left is this soft, rotted tree that you call a poem. Terrible. Without purpose. Daft. Imbecility.