Poetry in the Pork Rinds?

…well I am sure there is somewhere but I am still trying to find it under my smothering of sea salt   comparative actions like walking two blocks in the 110 Vegas sun simply to appreciate the air conditioner once you step inside  no   at times there are things you do when you  don’t have a car and really want a beer and fresh pork rinds

And just like that life is a moment of spontaneous decisions  planned moments turn into a perfect curve ball from the pitcher’s mound   something much to be said about sitting at a bar alone not looking at the cell phone acting a tad awkward on display between the beer taps and cocktail straws  stepping out into vulnerability walking out of your neighborhood into a possible den of thieves  so I eat each pork rind searching for satisfaction and maybe that’s the poetry in the pork rinds    no plans destination expectations  simply the basket before me popping sitting waiting

But I don’t think the poem is there, do you?