In print.

Why is it that hate and anger create so much violence and terrible things,
but not art?
Where's my teeming pile of art dedicated to your seething jealousy.
That isn't a question.
Maybe, what I've done is foster a germ.
Progenitor of the nasty things in life.
It's like, remember how racist old cartoons were.
That isn't a question either.
You remember.
What happened to that kind of art.
I'm not advocating it.
I'm just wondering.
Because when I write terrible things
And I lash wildly
It probably makes me look wild and untamed and dangerous and full of feelings burping up through swills and and and and.

But I want to see your terrible terribles.
In print.
If it's not in print.
It's not.
In print.