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Perhaps poets are liars obsessed with cereal. Take for instance, Fruit Loops. No bitter edges to disturb the sweet, sugary curves. All sharp corners of love replaced with nonexistent simplicity and colorful nuance.

Maybe as poets create something parallel to what they know there is always some progress, even when things are at their worst, because at least they don’t have to do over again all the negative things they’ve already done. Is it their point to show us how it is possible to do something by undoing it? As everything is disappearing more than once, once more, sometimes one has to dare to give the final brushstroke that makes everything one has done up to a certain point disappear.  Some like to imagine a cosmic mother watching over us from the night sky the poet writes as she places six quarters in the vending machine and a can of root beer tumbles out like a body falling from the stars.