Thoughts After the Poetry Reading

I spend more and more time on line so less and less I  deal with the mess out there that’s real.

Just came from a poetry reading and the thought on the way home on the tram, because quite often when I come away from these things the thought I come away  with  is the germ of the next poem, was that if everything is a metaphor for everything else, which is a bit of hyperbole or perhaps, better stated, phrasing something in a poetic matter and thus rendering it meaningless, but lets say if everything is a metaphor for something else, which it must be if anything is to be a metaphor for it, then it should be possible to come up with a string of metaphors that eventually includes every aspect of our existence, from the physical universe and matter and anti-matter, down to why  does everybody  like bacon so much, and is a tomato a fruit or a vegetable, it’s got a bit of an identity crisis going on there and is thus a metaphor for confused youth  who don’t know what they want to be in life or someone with gender issues, and all fruits and vegetables can serve as metaphors, the peas, of course, smooth or dimply, are a metaphor  for the science of genetics, or would you even call that a metaphor, can something become a symbol without ever being a metaphor? and I think, oh, yes, an apple for the  symbol of New York which could  never have been a metaphor because New York is not crispy and sweet, the food metaphor for New York City has to be the  strictly commercial, time is money don’t give me no shit hot dog or a thick, gooey, cheesy pizza with extra Italian sausage.  Los Angeles is the city of Angels, which is a bullshit metaphor, if ever there was a city without any angels, that’s it, it’s like Greenland, sometimes the metaphor is just a big, fucking lie,  poetry can lie, a sonnet has to have 14 or 18 lines of iambic pentameter and it should rhyme, a Haiku has 5 syllables, then 7, then 5, a Limerick has two rhyming lines then two different rhyming lines and then a 5th line that rhymes with the  first two and is generally about somebody who can fuck themselve’s in the ear, but nobody’s  ever written  anywhere that you can’t lie, that would  be a totally unreasonable restriction on a poem.