Reading through Eliot’s poetry, I’m trying to decide how much to look for meaning in his poetry, and how much just to appreciate the beauty of words and sounds, knowing there’s no meaning to be had. Some of his stuff definitely carries meaning in it, but some of it seems random. I love T.S. Eliot, but I’m not a big fan of this idea of separating sounds from their meaning. So, I wrote a poem about it in the closest appropriation I can come of about his style. Continue reading “Dear Mr. Eliot” →