Poetry is white nights and mouths of desire. Poetry is made by dissolving halos in the ocean of sound. Poetry is the street talk of angels and devils. Poetry is a sofa full of blind singers who have put aside their canes. Poetry is the anarchy of the senses making sense.
Poetry is the voice of the fourth-person singular.
Poetry is all things born with wings that sing. A poem should arise to ecstasy, somewhere between speech and song. Poetry is a voice of dissent against the waste of words and the mad plethora of print. Poetry is what exists between the lines. Poetry is made with the syllables of dreams.