Am I one? (For asking)

Am I one? (For asking)


I yearn like sweat on a laborer to make myself

realize myself,

to know that which I do not,

To express the color of my blood and thoughts.


I am consumed suddenly with the desire

to make people in every age know me

so well that questions will never be asked,


To spill out onto receptive mediums,

a million instantaneously coursing musings,

Which all sparkle with shocking lucidity and tantalizing candor.


Instead, I grip the haft of a plastic pencil,

Hoping in anguished desperation,

That I sound not like a demented braying ass.


Do I make myself clear?




    Are you a what?
    For asking
    Or not
    Whichever some consider be better
    The nose holes of that great grey creature
    Grasped and clasped to not let water in
    Or air out?
    The discover may in fact be worse than
    Not knowing!
    As I sit doing this years tax return
    This is the dilemma
    and that was my exercise
    The 60 second unedited uncorrected poem for the day
    Now you have an answer and a query
    In one
    Minute minute

    1. Patrick (Post author)

      What you asked and answered
      while taxing yourself to detox your account
      of what Uncle Sammy wants
      perpetuates rather than resolves the question propounded.

      Alas, I too am taxed,
      vexed thus,
      and wracked,
      perplexed to convulse here in ambiguous
      uncorrected words
      vouchsafed like manatee nostrils upon the world.


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