Do they know the pain, the looks,

The loss of family, friends, and lovers,

Those who do not read my books,

Who just rage against my covers,


What it takes away from joy

to mock the sanity they destroy:

Lives they live, and words create,

Dedicated, at the end, to hate,


Although most histories tend to visit

Upon the condescending

Disdain as equally exquisite

As what they were intending?


Will they acquire talent, wit,

So their like can savage it,

Will they lose their health, their time,

To neutralize the kind of slime


That hardly car the price they pay

The amazing races they shortchange,

The discoveries they delay,

To libel other worlds as strange?


San Francisco

October 6th, 2013