Category: Rage

A pretty verse is all you ever wanted, you say. Pretty. Pretty dull. What does it challenge? What does it make you think? Why does the rhyme scheme have significance?

Does it look forward to recounting the past as the present sees it?

If it’s a vacuum, a glass jar preserving cute language like a vat of liquid nitrogen poured on a rose, you’re in the wrong place.

I am well-versed in the perpetuation of this filth, this inexorable dust clinging to the shelf life of an English Writing grad in limbo between academic fulfillment and the beatdown waiting for him in the dank corners of the business world.