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. Poetry is far, far cries upon a beach at nightfall. Poetry is a lighthouse moving its megaphone over the sea. Poetry is a picture of Ma in her Woolworth bra looking out a window into a secret garden. Poetry is an Arab carrying colored rugs and birdcages through the streets of a great metropolis.