Its my pre-blog-ative.

During my blogging experience thus far, I've been able to indulge in several of the unique pleasures of this unique medium, including several of the following: self-publishing shameful anecdotes of personal failure, in a side-winkingingly self-deprecating way; unloading barrels of hot vituperative anger at persons or abstract ideas, with no fear of fact-checking and veto power over disagreement; solving intractable problems through navel-gazing; inventing problems and then solving them through navel-gazing; speaking for whole demographics of people without their knowledge, consent, or interest; Using paragraph formatting to 

make points.

...or jokes.

etc. But there is one huge chunk of internet bloggery to which I have not yet added my say, and that is awful poetry. The internet is full of awful poetry. Awful poetry must surely be the bad cholesterol clogging the arteries of the blogosphere. (What a metaphor! this is going to be great...) So without further adieu, Mr. Matt Roehrich, poetaster.

Who will wait for a poem?

Each line ends in a decision--

Who will search for unfelt meter

Or care for this careful imprecision?

Here-just so-will this line end, and

then another.

And that was a choice, but why?

and--of what?

Who will wait for a poem?

Each line demands the decision

To put up with words: atavistic and hard

And see them to their pliant elision.

The unheard architecture of

crumbling words

Winking from inside the frame

at you, reader.

Why not wade through a poem?

Its an easy decision,

Like a salad before dinner to pick at--

until the meal arrives, or the channel changes.

...aaaand whew! oh, wow. It feels great, I have to say, to really be part of the club now. Stay tuned for maudlin love poetry. We'll be having imagination stand in for an actual subject, but even that won't stop me.