Is that what it is, interrogating pleasure? Or is it that critics either actually enjoy catholicity or cannot afford to ignore what draws large groups, while poets can't risk appearing... less than exceptional.

I think about this a lot, as someone who gives not a single crumble of manure about posting every last scribble. In the near term, this is certainly reducing the aura of mystery about my work. That's fine; I hate the aura of mystery. The little canon of books I go back and back and back to: I am trying to break down their secrets.