dependence recognizes the conditional unanchored by the conventional.
I am a product of the modern machine. I do not care for archaic blatherings, cheesy croonings, syrupy obsecrations or (for that matter) anything shit from the dusty minds and crusty quills of yesteryear's versifiers.
Emerson, Whitman, Whittier, each progressively shittier, their lines murder by tedium.
Dickinson and Poe defend that black, bleak, broad-whiskered era:
dark souls, lonely souls, slung off and faded away:
The greatest among us pen magnificent fascinations go mad and die young.
I do not care for old lickers and their vacuous psalms. Ripe is a step removed from rotten, age an achievement unworthy of immortality.
I do not care for bygone philosophies that humanize inanimates, caricaturize the humble struggle.
John Corleywrites from the Louisiana State Penitentiary at Angola where he has served 29 years of a life sentence. He is a recipient of the PEN award for playwriting and a National Council on Crime and Delinquency award for journalism. His first poetry collection, Pagan, was released in 2018.