SONG OF MYSELF

I am a mirror with a bezier past…. I am painted glass;
Seven years shattered, blast.
Broken prism on the contour glass.
Bezier curve, droplets of memoirs past.
Tide soul, on a dream’s harsh wave…. Here I displayed,
fragmented…. desecration.
Poetry desolation.

I am the moon swirled covered clouds…. misted now.
The stoplight, go; green it shows.
The fog dips down, the asphalt lifts,
the Streetman’s trench coat, flowing with its back sagged dip.
Baton breathes. Infiltrating, orange road keepers,
I am the salve of mosaic classes
for which they hate.

My soul collection; is the scrapbook laying empty on the shelf.
I am the feathered pen…. Gathering dust on the desk.

I see the cat, with the standing fur, I am the hiss the loud anti-purr.

I am the tower, fallen down.
I am the debris of tears, that won’t absorb…. in the city ground.
I am the pieces of the flag; waving proudly… tragedy refills what I always had.

I am the fireman…. going numb. searching silently to not feel the pain.
I am the police officer, racial profiling, trying to maintain freedom, while
big-brotherizing.
I am the slave, sewing corporate America shoes.
I am the terrorist, blasphemizing the God I choose….
I am the victim, hating back, I am the victim love not lack.
I am the Sheik, bullet undeserved.
I am the dead man…. fate fallen dirt.

I see the river, it’s flowing past me…. I am the mist, the grass below tree feet.
Churches silent, captured….
I am the dreamer, in a technological hack. I am the central processing unit, in my random access. I am the streamer, notes on a chip. I am the megahertz, T1 to the copper twist.

Where the sky is falling, in clouds of mushroom dust, where the metallic birds are booming, and the steel is thrust. The gigantic whale, of million men in white, the gorillas in green, the bird riders in blue, the mud dwellers olive too.
Fairy dancers singing fairy tales, alabaster stone, they flash the dimming tears.

News flash, I am black and white, I bleed to gray… I found the day, I cast my cast….
The stone.. it still lingers.

I am blank.
I am empty.
I am amber burning fire…. I smoke the sky, black cloud, am I.

Silver handle, black slicked wood, I am rose covered, and I am round me stood.
Tears of fallen… comes back to glass. I am penny eyed, they are black. I in best shirt, lay silent still, I am death, I have revealed.

Ash, upon,.. shall burry me, I shall rise under thy wing.
Flag is lifted, from the pain…. non to I, to die in vain.
I am voices, sing God bless. I am unified, I am rest.
Where the men march on in stride, where the voices sail from inside. Here the churches, swing wide their door. Here in the congress, parties no more. Here the laughter, through the tears, I am American, first time in years.

I am free.
I am me.
I am lifted
From debris.
I am never
Forgotten
I am enduring
My freedom yet.
I am the soul
I am invulnerable
I am un-terrorized.
I am not afraid.
I am God made.
I am the states as whole.

Cheek dried tears, smiled teeth, where the grass grows anew; I sleep.
Stars of pictures, painted a thousand years, I am the bored man inventing the patterns which lines of juvenile connection takes classes for years.

I am the oil that strikes not the paint, I am the canvas watch me I’m blank.
I am the toy box, held not the toys. I am the floor, broken doll/ broken joys.
I am the coloring books, why have I these lines?
I am the journal, who’s scribbled -can’t stay straight with no guides.

I am the text book, 50 bucks 75. I am the teacher; who pushes it aside.
I am the notebook…. folded corners at best. I am the typewriter, with deleted fading fast.

I am the writer, stuck in her thoughts, I am the poet- less my mind tripped the frost.
I am the snow fallen, I am the shake. Pepper or salt, I’m flavor for taste.
I am the airplane, my own fall am I.
I am remote, upon which is the ride.

I ….
here the little birds calling the sky.
I hear the trumpet, its lips reached the time.
I hear the simple laughter of kids.
And here is the whisper….. of

Quiet dark skies.
Yawns of the night. Hum of the laptop.
My pages are worn.

Find me in the shadow, find me in the light.
I am the particle, I land on your right.
Breathe me in, slowly breathe… you just inhaled me.

I am the rest of cold calamity’s feast
I am the swipe of thief driven feet
I am the gentle touch of first love
I am the bible’s sacred trust

I am the holy water, cool and I plain
I the straightjacket, as in- I insane
I bequeath my feared life
Whisper softly as you like

Here is the deaf ear,
Listening the counselor.
Jeer past the jostle, I am cold in the fusion bustle.

Petal dripped rust. Key scratched car. Crinkled paper…. stolen from the trees;
Thieves of nature, are we.
Robin Hood, no not I. I am the sliver, conformity not I.
I am not the palmed cross, I am the realist not for cost.
I am the monitor told to speak, silent am I, where when I can keep.
I am the battery, living full force.
I shall drip acid, as I come to the corpse.

I am the water, of melted ice, I am the furnace, where coal is not vied.

I am dull, I am scratched brass, I am the endless, I am the vast.
I am the echo, I am the sound,
and I am the noise that goes…

Heather Lynn Reilly
September 27, 2001
Song of MeN
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