"the best poetry in the world"you said "i told you,""i told you that the best poetry in the world is the stuff withtactful rhymes andperfect rhythm, wicked linesthe stuff with, you know, skill.""oh?" i said"yes," you replied andi could tell you were about to go off on a tangentby that cocky look in your eyes"all the natural talent in the universe," you continued,"could not compare to something of technical perfection."and at that moment i disagreed..."i think the best poetry in the world is something that can be felt. likesomething with a beating heartit breathes or, like,pulsates under your eyes skimming the wordsit might invade you or steal you awayto a place you have never been beforeor maybe it wouldshare some of its happinesssorrowromancedespair with youit's the unliving which livesa burden or blessing in the form of something...something so simple.""oh," you said. "then i've been doing it wrong all along..."