Poetry is the art of saying
what can’t be said at all,
Poetry: dancing around words,
by means of words and symbols,
dancers pointing toes and fingers
to a place that has no time
no space for the dance.

Poetry is about what poetry is not.

Where are we in this world?
The more you Google
the more you cannot find yourself, poet,
the more you’ll find yourself gone.

I feel my breath
reach the branches of trees,
and the AI robots crunch my computer
as they rummage through my words
to find meaning and labels and signs
to catalog and store on servers.

Oh, if you want to be found in this world,
poet, you’ll have to sing geometrics,
optimize
measure
advertise
sell,
you’ll have to create songs,
not poems,
not life.

Oh, but if you want to live, poet,
you’ll have to live in the trees
and even in the leaves of the forests,
the tiny dew-drops on blades of grass,
who whisper Socratic know-nothings,
and let go when the morning sun burns,
still loving – a sacred silence – all the while,
as the search engines continue their purr.

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