Re-reading a long poem by WC Williams in the age of social media

These lines from a WC Williams poem, 'It is difficult/ to get the news from poems /yet men die miserably every day/ for lack/ of what is found there', sneak up on me this morning, coming out of my past with the sort of steady insistence that's composed of memory and real-time present reality.

I know the words mean exactly what they mean and yet I know they mean more than they mean, and the more that they mean is where almost all of their meaning is. 

The words are from a late poem Williams wrote in 1962 near the end of his life. I know the title of the poem, I know Williams wrote it for his wife, I know it's a long poem, and I know that as many times as I read it, and I've read it at least a dozen times from beginning to end from the time I first started reading poems in the mid-1970's, that it means something different to me every time I read it.

The lines occur near the end of the poem, amid a flurry of confessions and assertions that Williams uses to build the poem. The poem's built on short lines, or longer lines broken apart that can be imagined as Tweets or other short posts on social media had they been written in 2017.

I don't know if it's the truth--that men would die miserably from a lack of poetry, as if poetry were a kind of necessary physical nutrient--though it might be true, and certainly some heart may now be taken from Williams poem.