Not that I have a dog in the fight over the ending of the final episode of The Sopranos – and how could I, never having watched the show – but I wonder how fans of the conclusion would square this…
“Sure, I was frustrated,” [Richard Walter, of the UCLA Film School] said of the final cut-to-black as Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin’ ” played on the jukebox. “But you don’t want everything tied up with a neat ribbon on it. I don’t know what’s going to happen in MY life. Do you know what’s going to happen in yours?”
To say that a poet is justified in employing a disintegrating form in order to express a feeling of disintegration, is merely a sophistical justification for bad poetry, akin to the Whitmanian notion that one must write loose and sprawling poetry to “express” the loose and sprawling American continent.
Tom Robbins once said that “the purpose of art is to provide what life does not.” Your mileage may vary, of course.
Carry on, then!