Concerning the Dissemination of Identity

 

I wouldn't touch my ukulele if I were you: I don't necessarily

stop playing when I

start bleeding.

And besides I think there might still be some love stuck between the frets.

And if you try to play D7 it won't sound like a D7

it will sound like the time I cried playing Mr. Moonlight.

Also, I think it's echoing with my heartbeat

which could throw off your

rhythm.

 

And you probably shouldn't read from my copy of Phantom Tollbooth:

it's all sticky with candlewax from the night

I had nothing to do but read it start to finish

and I think there's a lot of blackout left in the margins

and there's a big smudge of happiness

obscuring pages ninety-one to one hundred thirty-three

and the paper reeks a little of childhood.

 

And maybe you shouldn't look at me.

I look a little too much like not being seen

but that's not totally true

really, I look too much like my mind

but even that's not true

I think I look too much like my soul

and no one wants to see that

 

and I don't want you to see that.