To an Editor Who Said I Repeat Myself and Tell Too Much
by Craig Morgan TeicherThe mouth works all its life to spit a vowel— some long sound with feeling fenced in by the sharp stops of a few consonants, a howl and a pen to keep it tame, a calm din that won't drown out the life it tries to say, but won't deny, either, that hell is the sound we're born making, the cry in the womb, which we tell and tell—too much, of course— in the hope of exhausting it. Stated plain, there is no other subject—rejoice, remorse, repress—all words stand for pain. Over and over I say—what else can I do? All words stand for pain. Fuck you.
