I’ve found that people are busy. Most have
little taste for poetry beyond what they ingest by osmosis and happenstance, and
even that often against their will. Even the fan of poetry, or reading in
general, is far too busy for it and would rather be slapped quickly in the face
with it than be taken down the long and lovely scenic road of writing.
Yes, occasionally a reader wants nothing more than to be taken down the rabbit hole
of literature and be happy never to return; but more often it is the short and
sweet or instantly bitter then gone poetry that this hapless generation can’t
help but prefer.
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