Consider
this question: is it
ironic         if I like
to write what I hate
to read

or is it a matter of
purpose, a necessity
as they name
this modem mass of
flo
   ati
ng let  
         ters

or is this random, really
or an arrangement of
flowers, how do they
sense its sequence ----
to "feel" or "hear" the "rightness"
of look, of meaning

if ever there is
one?
perhaps ---

you understand us/me
best --- "that we 
do not admire what
we cannot understand"
but does this
remove my bitterness/fear
or me
from the sphere
of Poetry?