how much do we admit the irrational in our daily/working lives? or, how much do we value the unknown even in the most rational of persons. not as religious belief but that these worlds we live are vast and strange. yeats believed in the occult. others believe in the equation. and still there are others who are rational, and yet admit to -- what? --

poetry is not about making sense, i think, but about making thru the silliness, horrors, wildness of our common realities, however one defines them.

and yet, thru the processes of reading and writing that make perfect sense, realities that is.

on another note, do check out the blog of u.k. poet jow lindsay.