if you were to
look
upon me
now

you’d find
my door
so
open

my hands
are busied in
writing

my mind
upon my
door

if you were to
look
upon me
now

you’d find
no one
in my door
frame

but watch me write,
and watch me live,
and watch me exist
with my door open

watch me write
a poem about it

and watch those offenders,
those defilers,
those vagrants,
mock and defame me
like a criminal and
a god

and if you were
to look upon me
now

while the wind
rolls dust on my
doorstep

you would find me
all alone
listening to the sounds
of “you’re a loner”

if you were
to look upon
me now

you would see a man
silently answer

“yes, I am a loner,
yes, I know that quite
well,

but there’s
nothing
I can do
when I sit in my
room
and only the wind
will talk to
me”