the: a self-critique
———
the: a self-critique
the
confessional tone
of my work
lends itself to the metaphor
of a dentist drilling his own teeth –
or else, a wild elephant performing circus tricks for mice and other miserable men –
a criticism
that would not sound out of place
if it were levied by
someone like
John Cheever or Edmund Wilson –
though both are dead,
each has plenty biographers
that turn an editor’s advance
into a mysterious and romanticized posterity;
I keep my pen under my sleeve,
keep drilling my own teeth –
a harmless sadist in my own right
with a chattel for a soul –
constantly lacking the appropriate anesthetic.
——–