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The dilution of poetry is an unavoidable consequence of shifting literary trends—where the distinct, evocative nature of verse increasingly bends toward prose, losing some of its rhythm, compression, and intensity. In a world saturated with unfiltered streams of consciousness and sprawling narratives, poetry often finds itself absorbed into prosaic expression, stripped of its defining cadence and sharp imagery.

This dilution is seen in how poetry is now written and received—where loose, unstructured lines mimic rambling thought rather than crafted verse, where depth is mistaken for ambiguity, and where poetry is encouraged to blend rather than stand apart. While prose-poetry can be powerful, when poetry becomes too indistinguishable from prose, it risks losing the force of its concentrated language. It no longer demands careful reading, nor does it carry the distilled weight of emotion that defines poetry at its core.

In "No Trespassing in Faulkner’s Town," the exile of poetry mirrors this struggle—the rejection of poetry in Fiction Town reflects an ongoing battle for space, relevance, and identity. Poetry is forced to compromise, contort, and adapt in prose-dominated landscapes, yet the final retreat to the anthology suggests that poetry still holds its ground somewhere, resisting complete absorption.

Poetry once stood distinct,

sharp as light

broken into verse, but now—

it stretches, it wanders, it fades.

It speaks, not in rhythm,

not in weight, but in prose

sputterings that drown its shape.

In Fiction Town, it was cast out.

Too brief, too unyielding—

too much its own. So it fled—

to anthologies, to margins,

to where poetry was still allowed

to be poetry.