Poetry is life.

Human experience is a fine art.

Fixed form is failure: life sounds good
    as the drudgery sets in.

Meter and rhyme are men-in-suits:
    The Man holding you back.

Writing has a point, an audience.

Poetry has none.

Poetry strikes the heart
    Seeping between the lines
        Deeper than sentences can reach.

Life’s the same.

Ask any ontological anarchist.

We pretend our life is an essay, a story, a narrative with a good 5 point plot.

We strive to make a solid point to a clear, well-defined audience.

We set our goals,
    and write up outlines to not miss the mark.

We end up with poor poetry.
    Cuz life is poetry.

Cuz life is poetry
    We stumble
        Finding gold in Elephant dung.