All of us are sounds of noise. We are humming, continually ticking with our inner mechanisms, rustling, interacting with ourselves and with others, discharging quietly, or exploding like delayed-acting bombs. We are spawning, skimming through, and seething with fury.

Poetry is a sound of noise. For poetry, fury is not a necessary thing as well as fury does not require poetry. However, the text can be angry; it can be called out, "provoked" by something or someone, thriving its way from inside, or directed to something or someone like a weapon – even if it is an unperceivable, not identifiable thing, or it is you, the writing one. Poetry can be a knock out or knife to the back. A poem can go furious, rushing, and take one away with its current – or it can be a quiet reflection.

For poetry, whatever it may be, is written from anxiety.

Because the texts exist, and some exist by the texts.

Because there are no unreactive poems.