Like an umpire shooting bullet holes
through a neighborly batter’s defenses,
you should strike through the draft of your paper
with the black ink of objectivity.
Or else you’ll be an executioner.
The ink will become your vicious black hood
and the pen will be your dripping red axe
swinging at the necks of innocent words.
Or worse yet, you will be back in high school,
stuttering sentences in a mirror
as you prepare to ask Suzy to prom,
just to doubt you had a shot to start with.
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