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….
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