I read it,
the fourth volume.
Eleven poems,
three short stories.
It started out with some lazy shit I would have written four years ago-
a ham-handed fusion of the Norse gods with the Greek,
tied together with fabricated meter.
Some of it was overly clever. Hell, maybe I did write it-
So much artifice, an irrelevant theme of stinging insects...
Who can remember every line?
Some of what followed was better.
Mobbs, I always want to throw you something
but I am afraid that you won't publish it
and I am afraid you will.
