For those who can still write poetry in the digital age
I salute you.
You are the true pioneers
The Bukowskis of an apathetic millennia.
No one can keep you from creating.
No pop up ads for shoes you just placed in a virtual cart
can drag you kicking and screaming into the land of the lost
The spiritually impoverished,
Those of you still writing poetry in the digital age
I admire and envy you
And I rarely participate in envy,
But poetry is where I once thought I lived
Curled up like a clever cat in the corners where I was conditioned
To believe poetry would always pour itself into me.
Now I lounge like a viewer
Snacking on poetry,
Catching poetry like butterflies,
But I can’t keep poetry anymore.
It’s not mine.