Poetry has an image problem. We got factored into whatever profit taking may be encumbering the horizon. Capitalism has made poetry a right of inheritance venture. You’ve gotta be talked up and blurbed and have friends on the inside. Do we need to offer a solution to the problem? Not until people go out of their way to reject that inheritance. Your life as a poet doesn’t matter. Only the poems matter. Mediocre poems don’t matter. No one cares that Ezra Pound was a fascist, nor that Shakespeare had concubines. I am not going to start a journal that accepts only anonymous submissions, but I should. What happened to writing the poem with no other end in mind besides writing the next poem? Or just because the world is in need of poets? The poet might as well not exist. Is this launch definitive?