Poetry on the Internet just seems like a damn weird thing to me. There is an all-star analogy to describe its weirdness. It's like, I don't know, going inside to watch baseball on a beautiful summer day. Something like that.
Andrew Sullivan posts poetry on his blog every Sunday. He's a smart fellow, but I've never read a single line of a single poem he has carefully selected and posted.
I found a very funny poem about Omaha that was published in Harper's sometime towards the end of the nineteenth century. There is some stuff in there about tight men (tight meaning drunk, I think, in the way that Hemingway used it about eighty-five times in The Sun Also Rises) and loose women. That's pretty much Omaha.
I'm not posting it here. This is just a warning.