What is Poetry?


Poetry needs no word.
It is anticipation to drip
The steering wheel to the rear view mirror

It is flow and ebb
It is open and closure
It fills and empties
It blooms and wilts
It forms and mal-forms
It is life and then death
It quenches and drains

I tell my students that it is life, from atom to galaxy
Deconstructed into pieces
Bridges between stardust and dust
How dream-weaver and death
Are related by one palpitation.

One palpitation………

What governs inflow
And out, inhale and exhale
Instant and infinity.

And draws a line between them.

Poetry is not only love.
It is a million different possibilities
Enumerable emotions.
Science and pseudoscience
Fact and fiction. All these
Making a statement in silence
Or in animation
As a poem goes from one point to the next.
Spaced by atoms and seconds

And even in the end, there is the poem.
When an explosion of darkness
Eclipses a continuum.

Poetry is an infinity, a drag
Of sequence, the line-makers
The patterns, the synteny, the collinearity
The entropy, and even the unorthodoxy,
Including models and anomalies.

It is everything…..

That goes through one door
And comes out of the other.

Poetry is food, it is poop
It is the cholera, it is the diarrhea
It is the toilet bowl and sink
It is the black hole
And the unknown.

It is what moves dust using physics
Eye-dew squeezing biology
Love using chemistry

And mountains by beauty.

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