Why must poetry be pretty? The language of gods, dripping from Apollo’s fingertips - whispers from the sea spray, metaphors in the dew off of morning grass and stanzas radiating off sunbeams Words to make critics swoon with veneration “Thalia, Melpomene, Erato, Euterpe - behold!” Fuck that. Fuck the gods. Poetry is nasty. Poetry is plunging a dirty needle into an arm so pierced that the rust punctures skin without interruption kissing a boy so drunk that the only tastes on his tongue are vodka and lust losing your mind in the heat of lack of consent “Belial, Asmodeus, Meresin, Abaddon - behold!” -Mel Cort