By Señor Blaño’s logic, I have a steady job, therefore (ergo is a cooler word) can never be a poet unless I walk away from my steady job and live the hours of a vampire.
I could let his proclamation depress me, but, I realize, poets have a gift for turning accepted reality on its head as they create alternate realities more real than assumed reality.
With picture words, they terraform so the commoner can acquire the perspective of royalty. The very people Roberto describes have the power, the skill to negate the premise making his belief a load of nonsense.