Why You Should Never Take a Poetry Class

I stumbled on this poem (of sorts) by Tom Devaney in the American Poetry Review while searching for something else. It's titled It's no fun living in the no-gun zone, and I thought the blog could use a little culture:

At his funeral they said he was, "Never a Owner."
It takes a day every day.
They're filming in your area code.
The director asked if you'd stand in.
Things are good people are over.
Drama, drama, drama, drama.
Grow angry, proofread slop.
Lose days
the specific emotional quality of former sex.
Know the cat knows.
Tomorrow on Oprah will be called, Creating Damage.

Soup tastes better the second day.
Phone up the hotel There isn't a job.
All the same, there's no more time.
Go to where you feel a river. Scan in the ocean.
Remember what you once thought.
You were wrong. It's not dark.
Something's stuck in your gut. You still need to eat.

Damn, after a day of editing video, that sounds almost profound! "Know the cat knows..." I thought so, the little bastard! I'm gonna cut off his catnip for sure. What's scary is that it's starting to grow on me.