Where Am I

Maybe it slips out my ears while I sleep,

the part that's connected to things.
Maybe a mask of cool skin's growing over me -

a little blot of flesh at a time.

Nothing in or out.


I want to grab things and people,

roots on steep riverbanks

but they're blurring too much

I can't feel the difference between 

lukewarm water

and whizzing ghosts.


River's end

a place where nobody lives

only silent lumps of flesh that don't feel a thing.

The sun is cool and damp

in this place

my lover's touch doesn't move me

remembered dead feel imaginary

as a child's unrestrained laughter.

This poem is about: 
My family
My community
My country
Our world


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