If you fit the stereotype of the elderly than you’re either oblivious to what you’re reading or you don’t understand it or you just don’t like it. I hope none of those things are the case. If you’ve registered the import of that last sentence, then you are likely really here with me now. This is what I was hoping for. It’s beautiful to transcend generations and to just be inside an artistic work, together, enjoying what only a great artistic work can provide.
You know, I just don’t know what your deal is. I can’t imagine why you would read a poem. But I guess that sort of unpredictability is part of your whacko psychology. Anyway, I wish this poem could reference or portray the type of sickness that would both gratify and reform you. I don’t want you to be violent or depressed or whatnot. I want you engaged in this poem and entertained (with your eviscerations, exploding bones, or whatever), but I also want you to become un-sick, to not be a sicko. You sicko’s make me sick! I just want to change this vicious cycle!