So this one has a little funny story.
This poem here was published.
It's in the exhibit.
It was published by Anne Boyer, who's
a lovely human being in the New York Times which is very fancy.
And whatever.
They're overrated.
And they lie a lot about war in particular.
Hawk.
Beautiful.
Anyway, Anne says, I'm sorry people are trashing you
online about your poem.
It's like, oh, let me see.
And there are these, like, crabby old men
on there being like, you don't know how to write poems.
And they start rewriting my poem in the comment stream.
Unbelievable.
Gaping anuses everywhere.
So I would comment.
I would say, thank you, daddy.
Thank you, daddy.
Your poor wife.
[LAUGHTER]
You got to get 'em to shut up somehow.
"We stopped studying the night sky for directions.
If someone said we made it up, planet Earth isn't real,
we would try to verify.
Try to be sure.
Critics are the evidence we do not trust ourselves.
Your imagination is asking for parole.
What is your verdict, warden?
Trying to always remember the calendar made of light
our ancestors followed to pass the year."