I wrote a poem about volcanoes. Not badhe said, and lent me a textbook about themwhich he promised would provide accurate detailsfor future work in the vein. I wrote a poemabout why I wrote a poem and he suggesteda more elegant conclusion, grounded, he noted,in Goethe’s indispensable Maximen und Reflexionen.I wrote a poem about love and he told me a storyfrom his youth involving a pair of Flemish twins,three bottles of wine, and a very loose pair of pants.So I wrote a poem about how I had invented poetry,bread, sunlight, and cannibalism. I concluded with a linewherein I ate him, feet first—his first time.