On Poetry

A poem should undress you; it should verify that humanity, naked, is raw, like sugar like meat. A poem should tenderize, chew the fat, chew ideas, chew down language for you to digest. A poem is the mother bird. A poem is a magnifying glass. In the sun, it can cause destruction, under a simple light, it adds something. A poem is an airwave, a messenger, Hermes, descending down to deliver. A poem is a boulevard, a mixture of people or places and perspectives. A poem is a cannon, it disrupts, it dehumanizes.

Poets have the ability to take themselves out of a situation and understand it, explain it, and conclude it. This even goes as far as to say the human situation or condition. Poets are reaching for larger meanings, for truth, freedom, happiness, wholeness. Poets wrap their head around the earth and they declare it for how they see it. And it is their Earth. In owning it, they are free from it. In freedom something can truly be understood.

Poets take things out of context and rearrange it making odd connections. They realize how large the world is and how their words can make it smaller. Poets adjust the lighting, explore possibilities and truth. They possess a healing whisper, a battle cry, contagious laughter. Poets are honest. They are voices that echo down empty hallways throughout the successions of history.


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