once i got drunk & sloppy and told him i feared artists always had more fun and more death, too, and how i had these strong feelings but nothing to do with them and he said, don't worry i'd trade my onion collection for a good cry, wouldn't you? i didn't really understand, but poetry is how you feel so i lie back and listen to janis's dead voice run up and down my body like a fire that has learned to live on itself and i think, here it comes, grief's beautiful blow job.