The Cruel Poet Poem by Keith Rushing

Poets make lousy friends because eventually they'll skewer you with their poison pen; their insulting writ of relentless invective and opprobrious apoplectic venom. The naked foist of un-allayed aggression as art-form whereby the vitriol of familiarity slices like a knife and digs in like a dagger. The very nature of chumminess turns adversarial. Like acid in the eyes the sneering contemptible retch could cobble out words with a disgustingly exquisite though execrable precision. A quirk, an idiosyncrasy, a malevolent adherence so committed to unmitigated truth that it is as a fist to the face, a shocking starkness of incivility justified by a requisite expedience hastened by the anxious need to blow one off forthwith. He was a veritable torrent of abject invectives.