Poetry does something to you. It changes your mind and makes you consider more.

I go out to get a poem. I meet people and shake hands and dance. I look at things and tilt my head to change my perspective. I lean off the edge and feel danger and see if new words pop into my head to describe the feeling. I let myself dabble in love if only to get a poem of pain out of it in the end. I hold a leaf and let it scratch down some words on my palm. I get home and go to sleep, too drunk to think of poetry, then wake up with a mind full of it at four in the morning. There are no poems I won’t consider. There are many parts of the world I haven’t seen.