Poems are fleeting and eternal. Sharp shards of reality, lacerating splinters of fiction. Fluttering into existing before they are written, stuck in amber once sheathed in words.
Poems are heartpiercing asomatic bloodinjecting reverse-leech entities in symbiotic relationship with corporeal beings that possess at least some kind of rudimentary language.
Poems are. Both, either, neither – catuskotic. Trouble, comfort, brazen, chaste, chaotic, controlled, sparse, dense, sparse and dense, opaque, archaic, original, intense, nonsense.