my word processor posits that there might be some
grammatical error (the audacity of machines so willing to offend
my fragile artist ego), but I know, “I fucking hate country music,”
is accurate in every sense a sentence can be accurate.

I am not angry; these impossibly many Booleans were only
attempting to perfect my journal entry, and besides, cold, anodized
aluminum suggesting as replacement, “I fuck; I am fucking;
I was fucking,” is poetry of a different kind.