Is poetry mimicking the ruling culture class or does it touch the chaotic genius only the subconscious can render like anti-themic slanting word music?
Is poetry novel or intimate like a small boy in a fluttering dress or seen through the lens of social justice, of documentary, of collective resistance, or perhaps the propaganda of public iconography, and imperialism in it's lock step with the prevailing dogma trend lines?
Is the poetic form collapsing like a screaming mouth in a mildewed universe of prison-like isolation, Pandora stripped of her consecrated darkness and without her box?
I'm in search of a sacred space where language serves the psyche without artifice, and pothole parentheticals that make plain the difference between the conservative public conversation and true innerness so that we see through each other like thin water stained cigarette paper and big doll eyes.