What now? Pettiness and the quotidian funneling our attention, we embrace the short-term, encouraged by a cheap, rapid-fire approach to that “high and ancient art” of writing poetry.
Went for a walk = poem
Drank coffee = poem
Stood in line = poem
Unfortunately, so few can approximate that transformative touch Midas came to regret. Mastery holds no deadline. Harold Bloom once remarked that Edgar Bowers had never written a bad poem. Count them. Why offer anything less?