Poetry Does Not Exist

Nothing to look at here. Move along

There is no such thing as poetry. There is no poetry in the feeling of sunlight on your face when the rain clouds have passed. There is no poetry in seeing someone you once loved dearly walking along the other side of the street. There is no poetry in the hot rasp in your throat while you take your first drag of your first cigarette of the day. If you walk along Ocean Beach at sunset, you will find sand and sea water and a young man tossing a frisbee to his dog, but you will find absolutely no poetry, no matter how hard you look.

Poetry is an imaginary monster we use to frighten children into being good. If you turn off of Guererro onto 23rd Street and walk uphill towards Dolores, poetry is not sneaking along unseen behind you, and will most certainly not leap upon you when you pass through the darkest stretch of the block. Poetry is not hiding in your closet, neither is it concealed under your bed or camouflaged by a pile of dirty laundry, waiting to strike.

There is no such thing as poetry. The people who insist otherwise are either deliberately lying or deluding themselves. The self-deluders no doubt also believe in such preposterous notions as "justice," "beauty," "basic human decency," or "art."

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