Commiserating Poetry Month

Our poetic anomie loves company.
We few, we sensitive, we word-obsessed,
group-clotting to read our poetry,
webzine-lurking as if in house arrest.
Always unpublished, unpaid or ego-hungry.
All but kid verse without request.
Cringing through bad verse symphonies.
Medicated so not to be depressed
when other poets miss our subtlety
and leave our tender psyches stressed.