William Butler Yeats Adrian Ibarra
somewhere in new york they’re making poems magic again taking those books about seasons in hell and putting them to use so that soon there will be an army of boys and girls with well worn copies or little black notebooks full of choice lines tucked into jacket pockets ready to whisper them soft into the ears of desire and while using those poems to get someone to bed might not be a tragedy it does lack ambition why waste magic on fucking when it can be fucking hostile? In 100 years I want kids using these poems to cut each other in half.