Why Poetry? I could write a spiel about the freedom it allows for me to be an explorer, setting off to map life’s obscurities, its taboos and nether-regions. I could draft about the way it offers a means of attempting to make some sense of the ridiculous, the peculiarities and the quirks of life, and a way to highlight the beautiful moments, or to draw attention to a deep underlying good that seems to exist. I could even try some lofty stuff about poetry, for me, being part of a search driven by a hope in some elusive  but ultimate truth.

But in the end, as well as sounding pretentious, it would all fall short of answering the question. I guess that is because, for the large part, I don’t know why poetry? It just feels right and has, for whatever reason, taken hold and become something essential to my life.