There is a time for reciting poems and a time for fists

So I guess if you're a visceral realist, the word of the day, everyday, is "poetry". Like I said earlier, Brian Blood is skeptical of the visceral realists and their poetry. I kept making the "These books make me want to smoke on curbs in Lima" argument, and he kept saying "Yeah, but you won't talk about poetry all the time like they do." This is, perhaps, true. In general, I do not talk that much about poetry, except in April (and, btw, get ready for a bonanza April). But I think that I could, and I think that I for sure would if I were friends with the poet Ulises Lima.

This is how, early in his career (1976, when he was 18 or so), Ulises Lima is described as creating poetry:

He wrote constantly, that's what I remember most about him, in the margins of books that he stole and on pieces of scrap paper that he was always losing. and he never wrote poems, he wrote stray lines that he'd assemble into long strange poems later on if he was lucky...

That's Lima, and that's what I want to be; or rather, that is the kind of poetry that I could talk about all of the time. There's a kind of poetry not in vilanelles, or perfectly formed pieces of performance, but in scribbled down bits -- stray lines that could, maybe, be assembled into long strange poems. More so even then the kind of commitment to poetry that, in their more theoretical moments motivates the visceral realists, this kind of commitment to words is what makes me glad to have, on the basis purely of hype, picked this as our book club book.

But you guys? What do you like about it?