"I choose, for moderate comfort, a thin tree
whose tallest branch has yet one leaf
hunched brown. A flag? Defiance? Obstinance?
A declaration I suppose.
I make it mine."
"while in heaven right next door somebody has plugged
a radio into a long extension cord and music from the local radio station has scared
the raccoons away and bushels of corn are picked by a woman who loves the feel
of the perfect ears in her hands because this is her heaven you see not the heaven
of raccoons"
Allen Grossman's provided the inspiration for this week's #blog post, which is chock full of thoughts on #poetry and #AI, with additional help from #Adorno, #PaulCelan, and other stellar representatives of #Humanity :
We write poetry constantly, unknowingly,
in our endless gush of posts.
I say this ferociously, unjokingly.
We write poetry constantly, unknowingly,
whether heroically or stoically,
humbly mumbled or in boasts.
We write poetry constantly, unknowingly,
in our endless gush of posts.