Somewhat likeable but inconsequential

                                          
                                             
                                           
is how i feel most bloggers regard me,
and i think i know why; but it doesn't
matter/ because the only person i am  
competing against is me: the silence  
in the showy fields.  In an old poem  
of mine i compare my voice to a pale  
blue moth.  It isn't that i can't go  
on at length as so many do, eliciting:
"Oh, oh, that Dragon Cecropia is here
again."  Or maybe it is.  Admittedly
i have been until recently/ away from
the fray.  Admittedly i am not about
promoting a manifest point-of-view.
Admittedly i could never fit in with
certified groups, which does not mean
i am uninterested in what members of
such groups make.  The isolation i've
chosen undermines those urges in me
to complain; and that, actually, is a
good: it frees me.  Still, i know my
long absences (along with my decision
to exit from submitting to editors)
may have cloaked my freedom, made it
impossible for any of my artifacts to 
ever be taken seriously.  Talk about
a game of chance.  Whatever happens,
it will be as it will be.                     
                                              
                                             
                                                
                                        
                                         
kh00008