I thought I would break the rules and post a beatiful poem that I love and you guys will hate, just to make our discussion slightly more heated. I feel that calling this conglomeration of words 'poetry' may inspire some hatemail (especially from a certain someone whos name begins with 'c'), and to tell you the truth i hope that it does!
Chronic Meanings - Bob Perelman
The phone is for someone. The next second it seemed. But did that really mean. Yet Los Angeles is full.
Naturally enough I turn to. Some things are reversible, some. You don't have that choice. I'm going to Jo's for.
Now I've heard everything, he. One time when I used. The amount of dissatisfaction involved. The weather isn't all it's.
You'd think people would have. Or that they would invent. At least if the emotional. The presence of an illusion.
Symbiosis of home and prison. Then, having become superfluous, time. One has to give to. Taste: the first and last.
I remember the look in. It was the first time. Some gorgeous swelling feeling that. Success which owes its fortune.
Come what may it can't. There are a number of. But there is only one. That's why I want to.
Does it make anyone angry that this is a really famous poem? It makes me smile. :)