What of misprison in these shoot to kill orders?

Shoot to kill. In my semen so few dead.

Wait. This Uncle Thing and the will. I find it confusing.
The man was your uncle. He died.
He didn’t leave you shit. You’re upset.

Period.

What about your history writing poetry together? Was there always animosity?

Yes! Ever since I ran over his schnauzer, in my villanelle, to be precise.

The “my” you reference reminds me repressively of what it sounds of, Sibelius —

he said.