You write, ”Poetry is that thing we squeeze in between laundry, golf, and sitcoms.”
Well, yeah..because like dirty diapers and disappearing socks, because like trees, and sand traps, and handicaps, because like snickers, and pretending, and the inane, we are of the world but apart from the word.
The sun will rise without our description, and set unconcern by the spit shined seriousness of our syntax.
We’ve lost respect not for poetry, but for the play of tongues.
The parlance of patois, the cutting edge of an anachronism, the carnival barker, the vicar on vice, dice and absolution, the long haul truck driver on short term romance with a long stemmed pole dancer.
We favor form over flesh and blood, becoming syllable counter algorithms incapable of deciphering if she loves me… or …loves me not.
I know, I’m a snot.
But I’ll tell ya what I did like, this post. Made this word slinger take notice.