[I know. There are some who’d want poems to start like:

something something dendrites,
wet snow evaporating on
Jeep’s red hood action vacillating
between thought and libido
in empty church parking lot’s
unquestionable hour

and later maybe:

something something father,
feet on workshop cement
circular saw’s perfect axis
dropping wet snow sawdust

in any case, after a number of stanzas, I could end with:

something something lamprey mouth,
we as children didn’t understand
the light balanced on a shoulder
with delicate forbidden temerity.

No—it makes me want to puke. So “pretty” and obstructionist. Yuck!]

Joe Hogle lives in Pittsburgh, PA. He is also known as Poopsmithey.