SELF PORTRAIT I am not a poet hesitating in the shadows of the human door I am not a poet for whom the human door has a known handle known lock known mat with the key under it I am not a poet knocking sentimentally at the human door or in another mood trying to force it open I am not a poet with his fingers caught in the human door nor the one who finding it closed would seek out the mineral door instead I am not a poet who feels hindered by the human door I am not a poet who uses the human door as a coffee table or coffin lid