' One Message To The Envious One

You say my writings bore you, yet what have you written beside comments laced with bitter and spoil, displaying your inertia for literary composition, grasping the Third-Eyes' largesse for illusion, respect for the art, for the Imagists' canvass. I be no Poet, nor claim to be; each work just a smoking mirror each theme always grazing over each message lying under the words, but a rock too heavy for you- to lift and realize the answers to your queries about who I am. So, I see you now, quite clearly, in your kitchen nook, sipping tea, the demitasse spoon sounds so sweet when it kisses the tea-cups' rim, as if it were chimes from a church, attempting to grab your attention that redemption for all you envy- are perhaps just a pen stroke away. FjR-MMXVII