It’s easy to see why people hate poetry..I, poet! consider my life a poem; everywhere I look I see odd bits of wonderful correspondences among patently unrelated objects that are regarded by the masses as crap! “Pure rubbish,” they’ll call it, “haul it to the dump”; and throughout my life I have been rejected..rejected and spurned by the community at large because of what they perceive to be ugliness. People do not like poetry, no! they do not. Ohh, they pretend, they put on airs and try to appear cultured; and even if they do cite an occasional nursery-rhyme fondly remembered from childhood..and they can even quote it, possibly! well, you may say they love the poem and hate the poet. Poetry is a messy business, it is! and respectable people hate messes; and prefer order. That’s just a fact and you may check it. So what they did about that, they created the Poetry Police to regulate the poets into compliance with their scheme for the way things aught to be, complete with poem-sniffing poetry police-dogs, K-9’s, –(rhymes with FINES) to harry poet-mongrels barking poems all night (mongrels like me); and these bureaucrats handle all us poets – and the poems – like it’s serious business and you do not want to wind up in their case load, which will become your life’s calling once they get started, yes! because once they get started they will send you to the DMV (Department of Motor Fascists) if your car’s ‘statement’ looks too junky, or FONKY for their tastes causing blight (you’ll see); or, they’ll have the Fire Chief’s Number 1 flunky ‘Chief Wannabee’ come around with his charms, feathers, and rattles and straighten you out about your firewood poem, they just might “Chim-chim-cher-ee-ya!” It does not matter if it’s the safest most flame-proof pile of big, beautiful poetically stacked eucalyptus rounds the world has yet seen..even green! they will find the fault..it’s their college and they’re The Dean! (and you’re left all alone); he may not even attempt to refute logical and righteous objections..or questions concerning that, it’s just “Do as we say!” not as we do; and, “THIS MEANS YOU!!” Though actual criminals may scurry around the town, getting the cheese all the day long, –with relative ease, a poet and his contraband, –a song! are top priority with these, poetry police, policing scums (scums like me) “..calling all cars, calling all cars! be on the lookout for a suspect-poet..said poet-suspect being described as ‘nondescript; although not altogether indescribable..a suspicious looking character with a furtive look’, –if he has a pen in his hand, that’ll be your man, Look! look in his book, and you are sure to find some prickly piece of partisan poop in there.” Yep! poetry, poetry is a prick..a prick with a pen.