I am my own true fit and counterfeit,

true gold and fool’s gold, their opposition

not surviving this life’s intricacy,

neither driving out each other’s other


What am I to make of myself but ceaseless

forming of unresolvable formlessness,

sometimes shameless in its heated heaving

sometimes weighted with patient blind waiting?


In possessing myself, I dispossess

myself of myself, pass into passing,

leaving behind trinkets that mark a path

beyond my own way of remembrances


“Am I or am I not?” becomes the sea

of “was” or “was not,”,  time’s own shoreless “be”



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