Ya know, Bill
Toothpick is truly, truly a brilliant poem.
You should not say anything nice about what I write.
While I like praise (sadly, I do), I hate people that are better than me more.
So ... I hate you Bill.
Was Toothpick in the air?
Did you pluck it out? Was it just hanging there?
Did I just miss it? Is that my problem?
--salieri to your wolfgang