Those lines are from a poem I wrote 6 years ago, the first thing I ever wrote that splashed out over the page. I wrote it to be a jerk, because it was for a class, and I knew my professor would hate it. At the time, I wasn't convinced by projective verse and white space, either, and then I was surprised by how excited I was to shape the page, to scatter the words like pollen and gather them into a thick layer at the bottom. Reading it back, I don't find it that exciting anymore, but it's funny to see how many self-discoveries I made because I wanted to write the thing that I wasn't supposed to write. How many decisions made in negation, against, in preposition. I have always liked the swinging door of the word "against"—which is anti-, pushing, but also the pairing of one long body next to another. Day four is hard.