Poetry is dead
The news went unannounced
the morning after
nothing significant happened
overnight, like the falling
of a star
none had ever heard
of.
All extermination outside
control is an infinitesimal iota
or inkling of discontentedness.
People are anxious and sad-
ly digressing.
These people around us,
called Friends,
dwell in a hive,
it is known to be
unsafe to stick one's arm
or neck out-
side.
Neither milk nor honey were effective
remedies
for the human condition
of bread and blood and jealousy and revenge.
Fact check: adding prescriptions won't remove you-
unless taken as instructed.
Poetry is often, by Anonymous.
All gossip is fast food.
There were reports of random rhymes and recently
too much illicit alliteration which went awry from
strict poetics, dismissed originality, refused mint-
ability and silently went about matching cases
where poetry became art and art made life
(more) poetic.
And yet it was always so,
documented.
Footnote: the value of 1,000 words has decreased significantly.
All photos have become 'Public Property'.
Religion has been resurrected for persecution.
Nothing is sacred.
Nobody is scared.
All coincidence is evidence of Magic.
And maybe
it was miraculous
and newsworthy,
Poetry was written
encoded into our genetics,
like the language
found on the tip of our tongues.
It feels good to roll your R's.
Painting by Francis Luis Mora, 'Morning News', c.1912 in San Diego Museum of Art in Public Domain.
