"He's just trying to keep in touch
--Loa in The Freak Observer
Poetry may be the most abused technology of communication.
So much, the poet said, depends upon a red wheel barrow glazed with rain beside the white chickens.
That wheel barrow isn't fungible, it can't be swapped out and replaced by another red thing. Rain isn't tears. Whatever that thing is, it certainly isn't a chicken.
It's having thoughts like these that lead to the suspension of my poetic license.
And thoughts like this one:
The Syntax of the Body
is not disturbed
situs inversus viscerum.
There it is,
but the backwards heart
to the other.
Give me a poem. Put it on your blog, stick a link in the comments, tape it to a bathroom stall. Maybe I can be rehabilitated.