Is It Wise

Is it wise to be so open? I mean, a poet, if true to his paper and ink, is there for all to read; My cover well tattered… lots of greasy finger-marks and coffee-stains – some blood – those nasty paper- cuts; but what life worth a chronicle if all blossomy, well pruned; reflections sparkling in a fancy beveled mirror, free from the many shards that bleed great works into print? We are a strange lot; in that our questions go far deeper than any face, covering far more ground than any expression would indicate – I heard somewhere, maybe I said it, that love is not where you find it as much as where it is taken; I think more, that, we bring our hearts to every breakfast...and the dinners, though few and far between, are banquets even gods and goddesses, manipulators of of us sensitive, perhaps very flawed creatures, will eternally envy….