Can poetry matter?

Can poetry matter? Can our poetry matter? Can our open mic poetry matter more than the Matterhorn's stature matters to the alpinist tracker scaling the rafters of the world for a gasp of something grander? See, we believe that by merely reading a piece we can release beastly people from their unceasing idiocy. For we hope that our original quotes will choke back the gropes of the dope-smokers who tie ropes with the names of our necks on them. But there is no proof that the Truths leaving our tooths can soothe the crucial pains of the youth anymore than a Christian prayer. For it's at its barest that our lit's as lost in superstition as the redneck thighs we hyprocritize in our anti-Condoleeza anthologies. So why fight the fact that we're but supplicants ranting against the tense, dense silence of thoughts left in notebooks dropped in closets, Waiting like cows in the stable at our café tables to pour our prose poem piss in the shifting sands of the world's unlistening ditches, Never knowing its effects, if it protects or how it affects change -- for there is no scientific method for poetry.