Poetry Is Like Revolution ― It Grubs in the Earth…

My attention has been drawn and quartered these past four weeks, so I haven’t had a chance to post since the year began. But I do have thoughts accumulating in my head, and hope to write some of them down. Here’s an example, a footnote of sorts to an unwritten discourse:

All poetry is of its historical moment; that’s a tautology. Where poems may differ is in their degrees of access to the past and future. And in the readers for whom that access is discernible.