Sometimes I wonder...

...why certain poem makers go to such extremes in their written view of life. Poems sprinkled with "fucking" (adjectival derision), "coffins," "shit," "death," "blood," so on and so forth.

Sometimes I wonder why these poem makers can't simply be sad about the general situation. In that long pause of melancholy, language might come of itself with hints of mystery, time, and surreal beauty. It does no one any good to rail like a demented orangutan at mortality and absurdity in the form of ugly verse.