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.