madness is like love

I've struggled.
I can't help but wonder
what is me and more importantly,
what is not.
That is to say:
Where does me begin and end,
and where does the not me begin?

Is me just a soul? Is me this body?
Is me the clothes I wear or the words I speak;
the bed I sleep in, the posters on my walls?
Is me my friends? My family? My lovers?
Is me the house I live in, the city I work in,
the nation I pledge to, the religion I have
faith in, the earth I live on?
Is me the air I breathe or the grass I lay on;
or is me the food I eat, the books I read,
the songs I sing or the words I speak?
Is me my thoughts? My actions? My attitude?
My personality--
Is me the rain that falls around me, or
the sunlight that warms me, or the darkness
that blankets me each night?
Is me the buses I ride each day or the sights
I see; is me the art I look at or the music
I listen to or the philosophies I discuss?
Or is me the classes I take? The jobs I apply for?
The things I buy, the things I steal, the things
I wish for and will never have?
Is me my dreams? My goals? My aspirations of life?
Is me the hounded slave, the mash'd fireman?

We argued. But I confess that without your knowledge,
I found myself arguing more with me, than you. I'm sorry
for that--you deserved my full attention.

I stayed, and watched him circle the drain.

I found a stinkbug in my house.
Bastards are everywhere.
I hear by word of mouth
that squashing them is a bad
bad

bad

idea. Well I wasn't about to let him
go out and repopulate Pittsburgh
with his infiltrating offspring.

So I flushed him. I stayed.
I watched him circle the drain.

I did it with a smirk on my face
and yelled at him, "HOW DO YOU LIKE
INSIDE NOW?!" He got the point.

There's a flock of geese
somewhere around Frick Park,
I can hear them from here.

They sound surprisingly angry.

The crickets that live outside my window
don't seem terribly worried, though.

---

The geese have stopped.
Now it's the neighbors that seem angry.

No gunshots yet.

The crickets are still unafraid.

"Ah! well-a-day! what evil looks
Had I from old and young!
Instead of the cross, the Albatross
About my neck was hung."

ATTENTION: debate in progress.

So in my Reading Poetry class, the topic of "shaped poems" came up. The argument in our essay read that it added a new dimension to the poetry and helped develop the visual stimulation necessary to fully appreciate the words on the page for that given poem. A number of people in the class, teacher included, seem to disagree, saying its a gimmick that doesn't add value to the poem and seems to distract from the ideas in place.

Seeing as a number of poets, poetry readers, and just plain poetic souls occasionally pass by this blog, I'm curious to hear what anyone who sees this has to say. This is, I believe, the first time I've ever called out to the people for a response, so I guess it's also an experiment on that front, as well. I wonder.

bring me the stars?

I've lost my place in my mind.
Current finances indicate I can
continue living for approximately
two months.
Current curriculum indicates I can not
afford a job.
Current living situation indicates
I can not afford no job.
I will be having an average of

two hundred

pages a week to read.
Bring me the stars and I'll
take you away we'll take us away
you can take me away and
we'll live as the wolves.
The wolves.