I was once a critic not a poet Yes someone did compose in the closet writing all manner of verse

to the dust but the trade wasn't for me it wasn't

I tried it out for a time but failed There was no publisher for my sonnets which wrestled their fingers free from my fist and typed about a thousand hopeless reads

The truth was out and had no container not Obama not Putin none whatsoEver and Always they asked for a Note Facebook take what none other would savor

Don't ask me for answers said my Oracle

Find out yourself what you are if at all All.