When poets talk about other poets we come up with the damnedest analogy. But who is comparing, except those who think they are better than others? The Almighty looks down on earth and separates the ground beef from the filet mignon. No more is needed to be said.
Words are a poet’s toy. We play as children in the same sand pit until some clever beings decide to divide and conquer, bait us with fame and riches and whatever egotistical massage. If we take them seriously we’ll ultimately surrender our soul as well as our toy.
My friend Don Brennan is quick to block the butcher’s knife and stop the chopping before we all get sick. “I’m the loser poet.” He said it without a flinch, and we go back to playing with words as children.
Isn’t in LA where they say “grow up-
sell out”?