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:
Me
My family
My community
My country
Our world