justa another poet (J.A.P.)**

toiling daily in the doily
factory, my job, to collect the
discarded spaces that fall
to the floor when the patterns cut


what do I know that you do not?
feel, what enlivens me that you
won’t recognize? fantasize?
what causes me to weep
that you won’t jointly shed?

exactly.
just(a) another poet,
my reflection is yours,
but you too, just another poet,
but you already knew that...