To Poets Whose Writing is Fecal & Procrastinate Their Deaths: Quicken your arrival and spare me the horrid stench of that which spurts forth from a curst 'n deformed pen. Hasten quick and go with God-- He, unlike me, can forgive those who write bad poetry. He won't forgive me; my savage use of the word has never faltered in it's growth-- it is a liquor constantly refined and subjected to rigorous fermentation. I would never consider diluting the juice from the bitter vine. The brutal folk mentored me, and my scars are marks of pride. They remind me always not to err as I utilize my pen, ensuring that it scribes with the finesse of a keen 'n well whetted blade. I appreciate having had that abuse now. Maybe one day you'll feel gratitude in retrospect, remembering my frank appraisal and wholly rampant insensitivity-- That or you'll still be writing bad poetry.