I am.

I am a thing
a you a me a we a he a she a
whateveritisIam
and you are too but
in a crib
we look like whatever it is we are
or at least whatever it is i think you are

and i try to find everything i can in little shapes on a tree
or not a tree but-you-know-what-I-mean
and you read and dig away
we're a big dualist family

thinking is a bit much anyway not that you can say what you think only what you think it is you think

enjambed progression pouring out of that hole
in the middle of your skin
that you bleed from so often when you're a little bit sad or a little bit lonely or just a little bit anything
or even a lot of anything

speech is audible poetry modulating ideas to make a holistic type-thing
or whatever
It is.


how does it all work anyway
or does it even matter
and is this all one big cataclysm or random circulation and you're just a reader and i am too but i am you and you are me and we're all reading ourselves to death
where everything is a company of freedom that i can't afford because of some silly little head that i can't quite manage and i move my fingers till they scream to make some kind of sense of it all that turns into a mushy mess that nobody can understand not even me not even me not even me