The sad fact is that the literary establishment lives on an isolated island. Nowhere is this more striking than in the poetry realm, where the stripped-down Bennington-style of verse is completely disconnected with the Beat-or-hip hop-influenced stylings coming from the lower classes, heard in dive clubs or on streetcorners. (The best underground poets do a synthesis of types, mixing in the knowledge of an Eliot or a Pound.)
The remarks here of Moody-mouthpiece "Harland" shows how out-of-touch the status quo's prose masters are as well; desperately clinging to a stale "avant-garde" left over from the days of Robert Coover and others of his ilk, with Gordon Lish/Thomas Pynchon wordplay thrown in. All very tiring. Overintellectualized; meant only for the pseudo-intellectual crowd. The Conformity factories known as universities continue preaching old dogma, while hundreds of DIYers outside the Ivy-covered walls are breaking the rules and the boundaries.
No, Harland; zeensters aren't submitting to literary journals whose focus is on the well-polished sentence while ignoring the deeper impetus of a work. These journals, like you, are micro-focused. It's not working. The answer for the art is to take a larger view, in so doing deciding upon a work's-- and literature's-- real goals, then adjusting the style accordingly, creating new styles which live. The answer for literature is right in front of us, has always been right in front of us, but no one can see it. Peace. Out.