I wish to say I was more versed (pun intended) in the vast underbelly of independent poetry happening throughout the western world, but the fact is the sheer weight of those serving the poetic muse is deep as it is broad. And I have to small boys, and they take precedence over poetry. However, over the last week I have the pleasure of reading Glenn Sheldon (allegory smashed up with surrealistic language), Nick Martlatt (trippy long lines and short zen koans with a dark edge), among others, and what I find I generally enjoy. I admit I don't get some of it. Sheldon's Biogrpahy o the Boy who prayed to the god of foreheads perplexed me for most of the read, while Martlatt's How We Fall Apart lulled me times until he picked up the axe again.
I'm not really sure what my point is here, only to say I am encouraged by the depth of those who follow the poetic.
And poetry seems to me, a great medium for the internet age, where we take our reads and news in short form, rather than long form.
Twitter makes us more economical, Tumblr bends the blogger toward image, and Facebook allows us to be long-winded or brief.
Maybe the written word isn't so dead.
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