I am not a poet
because I live in the actual world
where fear divides light
I have no protection against
the real evils and money
which is the world
where most lives are spent

I am not a poet
because I cannot sing about
lost kingdoms of righteousness
instead I see a woman in a blue parka
crying on the street today
without hope from despair

I am not a poet
for there is nothing I can say
in smart turns to deflect
oncoming blows of every day's
inexistence that creeps into
the contemporary horizon

I am not a poet
but a witness to bear the empty
space that becomes hearts
if left to loiter or linger
without a life to share

I've seen sorrow on joy street
and heard the blur of the hurdy-gurdy
and I too know what evening means
but this is not real—poetry is
and from this have I partaken
as my eyes grow into the evolved dark