There's too much poetry in the world

This is not a poem

This night, here was, here is?
Well let me start again, verbatim.
I have a wife, a son, a life, choice,
a real dog, a plough, a bull and seven sisters.
I have nothing any person could want,
I have everything.
Is there anything lonelier than the distant light
of a ship at black of night ?
(I brought home this thorn with me
under my skin.)
A blackbird broke the silence,
an alarm call.
I could see the dark side of the moon, the veil lifted.
My shoes did their job, my coat protecting me,
from the cold damp earth.
I saw fences keeping things in
and keeping things out,
broken in all the right places.
Like right minds