Not to those who have spent time locked in sheds.

My point here is that it's an excellent piece that for some reason does nothing for me. I cannot relate to these situations, so it can't tell me anything. You make no effort to court readers who have not been male hustlers, and this is pretentiousness in my opinion. There is nothing to bridge the gap between your fucked up life and my shiny, straightlaced dime-store wingtips. Thus, anyone who liked this poem who isn't a male hustler is liking it because the subject matter is novel, and because it is written well enough to believe that it really means something to someone somewhere.

Look, if I can't see what this poem is about, who is at fault? If this poem effectively communicated what it was about, it would be obvious that I had avoided what this poem was about on purpose. But it didn't communicate that, and so now there is some question in your mind whether I am obnoxious or stupid.

Why am I wrong? Because I've not been an altar boy or a male hustler? Am I to believe that this needs to be the case for a reader to appreciate this work? What exactly, is a poetic success if this is? If I am comparing this story to what 'they' have taught me to compare it to, isn't everyone? And isn't any criticism of anything by anyone based on a comparison of the thing and what 'they' have taught us to believe? Do you even want criticism? It seems you are principally opposed to it. The somber reality behind this poem has nothing to do with this as a piece of poetry. I could write a poem about my cat that died when I was in the third grade but it would take more than the fact that my cat died to make the poem good. It would take more than imagery, skill, craft and all the rest - it would require some evidence of an effort to say something to some audience. Without this evidence the poem would be pointless, and by extension disrespectful to my dead cat.

I will concur with you about the last line of the poem though, and that is all, thank you good night sir.

What? You think a genius can't be a fucking dim wit, or a know it all who knows nothing occasionally. It's the balance of life. I do think you are smart and funny and you are a blast to read and heckle with, but there are times even you and me are wrong and jesus too. it's okay, we are right the other 98% of the time, but here you are wrong. Have you ever been an alter boy, and a male hustler, i highly doubt it, therefore you are comparing this story to what they have taught you to compare it to, and you are wrong, and so are they. It's just that simple

I'm not huffy. I just think that you are being bias. 4, 10 2, 5, 9, whatever, i don't recall sighting the rating as having an axis point in my argument, thank you good night. What bothered me was you completely avoided at all costs what this poem was about on purpose, or you really don't know. one or the other.

The Earl of Dongcaster told me to write those comments.

I thought you said I was intelligent

The corruption only starts when the money matters, it mutates only when it matters (or doesn't matter). Is there no way to be zen about it?

It's not like a hobby, because of the ridiculous amounts of money, and the constant corruption involved. At first one would like to think of it along the lines of hobby but quickley it mutates. Like Carpenter's the thing. Then you spend the rest of your time absorbed by hunting it while it hunt's youu