Shouting in the Literary Conversation

I promised myself I would never make a blog, but this seems important enough.
Everything I know about poetry lives in anthologies. And then there’s the internet: a swarming mass of untapped inspiration and no one to harness it. So here I am, with my puny blog asking for something bigger than a connection or a website. I’m looking for the next splash in the poetry world. Are you with me?
The literature of the time is decided by men and women at desks with lofty titles. This Cannon will exist beyond this year and the next and eventually define poetry for the future. Even more important than that is the Literary Conversation: a trail of ideas and experiences shared through writing and art that spans generations. Will you be part of it? Are you with me?
The poetry sections in bookstores are too small. There are too many poets writing on napkins and in the margins of textbooks to ignore any longer. Forget what you know and share with me what you see in the world. Throw your ideas into this hat and see if you don’t walk away with something greater.
This space is for sharing, editing, discussing, suggesting. The poems you post will be your own, but the ideas we create will better mold the landscape of poetry and the way we treat inspiration. Are you with me?
I’ll start with a poem very close to my heart. Please tell me what you think, where I can improve. Post one of your own in the comments and we will do the same for you.
–keep writing
On Modern Art
Existence depends on brushstrokes
No matter width or stickiness
This oil on cloth—stretching forward
Endows perspective—we depend on
Disorganized mind-waves
Buckling thought processes
Folding one image upon another
Like a resting fan
Anticipating a flip sunward
Revealing divinity… perhaps
Existence depends on the
Static-electric telepathy between
Minds, where one eye sees
A woman and the other sees a waltz;
Where the two are one. Not a woman
Waltzing but the dichotomy of
Impossibilities. A body. A dance. A hand.
A brushstroke. God paints paradoxes:
Neither dancing nor standing still.