Criticism is commonplace for what we do

although we cannot be whipped into place

as we scare everyone with a will of solitude and independence

courting young women

traveling to deserts and rainforests

war zones and peace communes

 

“What do you do?”

“I am a poet.”

“So, you are a freeloader?”

 

That is the cue

to raise the voice of our

of my

self-confident proclamation of artistic dogma

 

I Am A Poet

(scoff scoff snicker snicker)

I AM A POET

 

The silence used to be so awkward

until I would begin filling it with

half-laughed apologies

Now

there is only the decree

then the stare-back

my conviction  burrowing under and uprooting

the scrutiny from their false confidence

 

We are not sensitive

because we stand up for passion

We are while You dream

 

Wound us all you want

we are immortal

 

 

af

 

 

(written with pen on paper)