measure me by quantity, mine you, deep my shaft of data, I got plenty, lots of ill-advising words, to a thousand poems...
keep 'em short, boy, satisfy the appetite of the new age for short and sweet, make the metaphors obvious
make sure the span of spam tween moving the heart and the ticking clock is brevity that is the soullessness of popular attention
you maybe, nah, you are an old fool, getting into movies practically for free, an ancient mariner, (a what?) but nobody wants to read the longings that are still and wild flowing into and from, erupting of every pore, every one a door to to a different destination