The poet has at his fingers the World Wide Net, the universal encyclopedia of all things and counting. I have a tough poem or get stuck on a name. Presto I Google Old Hollywood Character Actors Forties and find Martin Balsam and even find out he’d been married thrice. I get stuck with a need for “literal bullshit” and I hit on “never tell a lie when literal bullshit would do the trick.” I may use it or not. I’m not hungry for ideas when I can steal form the encyclopedia. I can find the most esoteric nonsense. Obsessive folk have probably prospered. One man sent me his opinion the state of the land from the Tea Party perspective. I simply looked up Chomsky and inserted (any paragraph C wrote in any book article will do) that “socialism has been around since 1946” in reply to his notion that “BO will dress in a brown shirt.” I never heard from him again. I can incorporate so much information in poems, great data. I can drop names, list famous artists, even act like a critic. If I get stuck I steal Kermode’s shit. He’s dead so won’t care. Yes. I have my finger on the pulse of life!