…I am a fraud
I pretend I’m a poet, tell people I am –
but I can’t be
poetry is the only place inside of us,
that spot inside us
the precise point –
where you and I
can ever possibly
meet
Poetry is the space,
place, between us
where our real selves,
(our godly souls)
could hopefully
meet
It’s is an invitation,
a crafted document
invisibly appearing
in the center of the room
artistically conceived
and heavenly borrowed
humbly human
in delivery and speed.
if you’re lucky enough.
honest enough
transparently apparent enough
if your poetry is good enough
God could shoot right though you!
like arrow-flames from Avatar
traveling through the words
moving without sound
if your honest enough, if you could face yourself,
and you’re not a fraud….
I find myself in a very weird place these days -
there is much self-preservation in my refusal to face my loneliness, in fact I consider it healthy -
and yet, I can't honestly write