Ivy, who is just the kindest, said my latest postcard poem (not posted) was "dark and sulky." My poetry writing group was not so kind. "What the hell is going on in this poem?" "Are they... are they, shooting porn?" And then porn makes me think of pron, and pron naturally leads to prawn, and before I know it, I'm picturing Prawns in Porn and I'm unable to speak.