On the State of World Affairs

I am out there and I am not here.
I am at our first playground holding the book of our lives.
I am in the kitchen eating breakfast of champions, sort of.
I am the man constantly asking the clock Why.
I am in the supermarket thinking of the bald and old Allen Ginsberg.
I am on the moon thinking about the moon and vice versa.
I am a hand in an empty pocket.
I am in our bedroom stepping on your hairpin.
I am a gathering of shadows on the most sunny day.
I am the bloody open palms of your heart.
I am the little boy who kissed a little girl under the summer peach tree.
I am the man who kissed my mother in the coffin under the wide blue sky.
I am all the other possibilities happening to all the other people.
I am the one reading the Sunday newspaper.
I am the darkness in a box of matches with a silent cricket in it.
I am the sound of the temple bell in some misty morning.
I am the blank paper of her skin.
I am the one talking nonsense when being asked what day it is.
I am the one here.
I am death after the life I have never been able to live.
I am just a simple person drinking coffee at noon.
I am somewhere and I don’t know where I am.
I am the cat waiting for the door to open.
I am the only reason to be who I am.
I am in the middle of the road and I never look back, never look back.