We Were Supposed To Poem by Julia Luber

Maybe it takes a little bit of indifference to tell the truth.
Maybe it takes a bit of giving up to write a poem at all.
There is something else happening behind every poem.
Maybe a state of question; maybe a need for dominance.
Maybe simply a pure exploration out of curiosity. And
some day somebody will come out of the woodwork and
establish what is actually happening "behind the best poetry."
They will make a dramatic whirlwind out of some simple and
expressive feelings, memoranda on places lived and left behind,
diagrams on inscriptions near akin to tombstones: like vendettas,
the words one never got to explain like a judge condemning and
punishing somebody for something unforgivable. I doubt punitive
desperate poetry will ever be thought of as sublime. Most readers
probably experience this in ways as an injustice, like it felt to
the true victim: now being the strong poet- somehow creating
a force of intelligence out of what is otherwise just evil and
cretin spawned garbage. I can't imagine the taste of that cruelty.
I can't imagine how truly sadistic that person is. I can't imagine
how much she hides from herself and how truly terrible she is.
But there is every way to go somewhere else against that wind.
That is a one in a billion mistake of a creation. And strangely
it fits into so much precedence like a rubric cube. And somehow
we will start to think of genetics more like rubric cubes. And
time and test and true and and place and space and event all
coming together somehow together as one to find opportunity
to create another chance at getting this world right. And how many
people does it take working together to get things right? Do we
even know by impulse and instinct the number of squares there
are on a rubric cube without looking, without counting, without
getting formal and provable and fact based about it? No. No we
don't Which only exposes how little we know about ourselves by
merely living. And announces a keen contemplation to recognize
that we have not gotten this world right. We have not gotten human
experience nor nature right. We are not the best that we can be
and perhaps shall never be. But so much suffering and so many
problems and so much tragedy due to, so proven, we were supposed to.