Image via Wikipedia I am?I have a black whole where my face should be.
An Arabic ancestor stalks my veins
and sees with the eyes that are set within
this faceless vision I do not see.
My great, great grandmother speaks
the brogueish tongue of Ireland’s warmth
out of this mouth that focuses attention
on the now face of my life. Catholic and agnostic vie
for serious use of the muscles of my mind,
reflecting anything they wish
over the pool of my features. I am a cosmopol and I am a thief.
I am a country man and I am alone.
Each of those within me
makes a lonesome wholesome one
which walks as I do,
matching step for step my stride, my laugh,
my tears. I feud. Each right within me
has its counter-acting wrong.
My dark is light my light is gray
and red and ochre tinged-
sky within a water colour.
and the other lives that cross my path
show a differing story. I am Mark. I am brother,
son, husband, father, friend, neighbour.
I am boring, I am clever,
I am the answer to a prayer, I am the problem.
I am the groove that others stick in.
I am stuck myself.
I fly in my mind and falter over fallow fields.
I steal the face of others.
I laugh when they laugh. I cry when they cry.
Everything I do- am, has been before. There is one difference. I am this combination of all these things.
I have not been this grouping of differences before.
Possibly I have met in past lives with those I meet now,
said similar words as My whole produces now.
I am me. ME. A never before uniqueness
that builds upon that strangeness
every day and night
that I am. I am falling.
The words are my weights.
Deep into the ocean depths.
Past light-blind sadness,
past the shoals of other thoughts.
I am a bottom dweller in dark sub terrania.
I open my eyes,
tilt my head
and see the heavens.
Too clear a view
for one so ever-hung with weighty substance.
Is the substance all my own imagining?
I know I must be alone down here
but others move towards me. Each feels that the depth is theirs-
created out of thoughts and singularities.
Their spaces are different from my spaces.
I visit and feel refreshed.
More me and more a-whole. I can rise,
bubbles drift past
in soundless expectation of their surface pop.
Will I mix into nothing as they will?
Am I to become part of the heaven barrier
that keeps us apart from the sky jewels?
If I am flying now what then happens at the top?
Is there a top for me?
Questions asked cause me to sink,
receding into muddy floors
where other questioners
drag their weighty wonders in their wake.
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