My Little Golden Book of Phobias

I had an epiphany recently. There are poems that make people feel good, feel *nice*. These are poems your don't have to work for. They do the work for you. You just read them and they sit on the page all glowy and smug. They are the presentable poems, the poems that play with others and they never bop anyone on the head with a shovel or a dump truck. They are easy. They are legible. They are law-abiding.

Then there are other poems. They are disreputable and noisy. They make you fidget and sweat. They say terrible things and they interrupt your sleep. They aren't easy poems. They aren't armchair poems, they're motorcycle poems with no helmets. They're dangerous. They're smudged and bitter.  They get under your skin and into your blood stream. They infect you. Yes.