from "An Affair":
They watched as the artist had an exchange with a grizzled poet who had dropped by. Still pecking out pomes on yr Olivetti, homie? the artist tweeted. “Except when I use parchment and quill!” said the poet, flourishing a small spiral notebook out of his pocket. He opened the notebook, cleared his throat, and read one of the entries to his sudden audience (a poem later included, with one or two minor revisions, in his chapbook Regression Analysis). Everyone applauded except the artist, who rolled his eyes. “Litrachur is 50 yrs behind painting,” he needled, adding in the next tweet, Gysin said it, I believe it, that settles it. “You may be right, brother,” was the poet’s quick riposte, “but at least poetry is still twenty-five years ahead of fiction!” Then he rolled a cigarette and stuck it behind his ear for later.
Read it in the new Prick of the Spindle.