Scribblers, whether fitting to form and rhythm or stalking the formless, stacking the pretty to be seen or shredding to see all clamber to some space to feel safe to flower or attempt or reject or all
and if from this effort another takes offense
that one should pay the poet's rent for showing you the extent of your ego's bent
for holding harm from another's pen thoughts that swarm only in your ken
I've learned that if I'm feeling self-righteous I'm probably wrong.