We don't worry about what the dead poets say.

Even though they speak

From beyond the graves,

We just read them,

And try to learn

What made them great at words.

But if they stutter now and then,

They're forgiven,

The time in which they lived

Considered,

The culture, slang, and norms.

(And probably some editor

Hath corrected much.)

Today the lack of form

Is itself a form.

But if a typo, or faux pas grammar, 

Or incorrect politics be detected,

It seems to me a live poet 

Cannot be forgiven,

While he, or she, is livin'.

-jenn