———

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.

 ——–