I have often wished that my writing served a "Greater Goal", and that all
poetry in fact served this highbrow aspiration.  Or perhaps not quite so
highbrow as I was once thinking.  Poetry of the "Greater Goal" gets its
hands dirty.  It becomes unseparable from the subject it is considering.
And then I really stop to consider poetry, feel its heft in my hand (like
Ben Ayers does).  I can't seem to grasp it completely, because it has so
many damn edges.  There's the social justice edge, the personal growth
edge, the language politics edge, the literary theory edge, the beautiful,
sorrowful, emotional edge, and so many, many more.

	"Throw away the lights, the definitions,
	And say of what you see in the dark

	That it is this or that is that,
	But do not use the rotted names."
		--Wallace Stevens

These are the edges I slip on when I try to make poetry aspire to this
"Greater Goal".

	"Poetry approaches, pauses, then skirts around us like a cat."
		--Barbara Kingsolver