why,
when asked,
do i hesitate to say
“i am a poet, yes.”
it’s as plain and clear
as Emily wearing white
but i hide it
in a black book
to read in darkness
with an audience of one.
it’s verse written as
slight of hand
to distract you from
seeing the queen of hearts
and her ego.
why,
when you say,
“it’s good”
why do you look at me,
clearly
not seeing
the trick
i have [...]
