“i don’t think i’m ready for a big girl job where i have to capitalize my proper nouns,” said writer Grady McPherson, nervous about the impending leap from experimental poetry to coherent sentences with standard punctuation and grammar. “maybe my boss will let me email him in haiku for now, just while i cope with the transition.”

“i’m looking for an apartment in brooklyn, but it’s so hard to read the lease agreements with all those big ugly capital letters in them,” lamented McPherson, shielding her eyes from the aggressive blocks of text unaccompanied by any whimsical line drawings or esoteric collages. “do you think i could ask the landlord to send this to me as a lyric essay instead?”

At press time, McPherson made the executive decision to move home and work on her chapbook of memoir vignettes instead.