A poet, I am not
a writer of small stories,
bits and pieces of my imagination
spilled upon virtual paper,
be I,
You may think of me as someone
who writes in that direction
along the edges, the fringe reality
the modest, easily read prose
stumbling in the dark, while the poets
the true poets dream around me,
I salute you,
my sisters and brothers in arms
you, who understand, wanting to be
calling yourselves, Poets
but I
lack the correct word,
for what I might call