Driving a cardboard automobile without a license at the turn of the century my father ran into my mother on a fun-ride at Coney Island having spied each other eating in a French boardinghouse nearby And having decided right there and then that she was for him entirely he followed her into the playland of that evening where the headlong meeting of their ephemeral flesh on wheels hurtled them forever together And I now in the back seat of their eternity reaching out to embrace them
Poetry as Insurgent Art [I am signaling you through the flames]
I am signaling you through the flames.
The North Pole is not where it used to be.
Manifest Destiny is no longer manifest.
Nemesis is knocking at the door.
What are poets for, in such an age?
What is the use of poetry?
The state of the world calls out for poetry to save it.
If you would be a poet, create works capable of answering the challenge of apocalyptic times, even if this meaning sounds apocalyptic.
You are Whitman, you are Poe, you are Mark Twain, you are Emily Dickinson and Edna St. Vincent Millay, you are Neruda and Mayakovsky and Pasolini, you are an American or a non-American, you can conquer the conquerors with words....