New Yorker

He was pretty good with words, darling. Once again, he returned prolific from a short walk in Central Park and bragged about a few strong poems he deemed worth keeping on his bloody paper. I felt aghast. A few thoughts could change the world! If only they would linger a bit longer in our thinking. I got six little friends in chrome canisters and a quicksilver imagination. I shot people in the heart for pleasure. The young men received my acumen with sharpness, young women stretched their minds and laid down carefully their open hands upon my torso, they used to say: I want to make love to you. I fear I might have overdone my share of cropping, my quota of joy, and peace, and wisdom. Isn’t it about time we shared this burden?