Final Cover

Poetry is sound holier than silence.

Poetry is the craft of writing which creates the work of art called poem.

Poems are heart bombs exploding in the mind.

Poets are paraphrasers paraphrasingly paraphrasing the mysteriously mysterious mystery of timelessly timeless time.

Poetry’s ear-thrilling eye-thralling language, heart-thrilling head-thralling images,

and joy-thrilling awe-thralling meanings endure as mankind’s sovereign souvenirs.

Poetry uses pointed words to make a fatuously petty point, a preeningly pithy

point, or some other pointy point pointedly in between.

Poetry understands what it means to fully imagine what it’s like.

Poetry protocol preordains the perpetration and perpetuation of perspicuity and perspicacity.

Poetry pretending to be legend stuff cancels itself out through self-immolation

by calling too much attention to itself through self-emulation.

Poetry people who write people poetry are popular poetry people.

Poetryism’s poets writing poetry about poets writing poetry about poems.

Poetry only matters if poetry creates poems. Poetry creating no poems matters not at all.

Poetry reads no one anymore.

Poetry, mysterious word magic, conjures up poems, miracles of meaning, one meta5 at a time.

Poetry looks into the mirror and sees scantily-clad imaginations frolicking in the seize of time.

P(home)s hoem dre(am)s.