The Slipping Away

By johntaiyu


I don't know
what an I is,
or a me,
or a self.

Every time
attention turns there,
like fog,
it can't be grasped
again.

These habits of mind,
these memories, this faith,
these commitments to the sense
of an idea

are they I?

Perhaps the pressure
of this ass
pressing down into the chair,
or the taste of the just lit cigarette,
or the memory
of when she let me hold her hand
from that other poem
might count?

Ditto the itch, or the smile,
or the hurt
that comes from the remembering
whatever awful times
before,
all willy nilly
and sometimes uninvited.

Are they I?

Just as the looking goes,
them divisions disappear
and the merging
once talked about,
however many patriarchs ago,
rears itself from slumber
to scream across the divide
not so fast buckaroo,
not so fast.

So it seems,
the illusion
of what it is to be an is
fades away
at the mere thought
of being touched,
by the haze
of everything else.

Which turns these words
to the realization
that whatever an I is
is bounded poorly at best
on the inside and the outside

raising an interesting question
about those people,
living in the dirt
and dying in their own starving filth:
who are they?
and am I they too?

Unauthorized Copying Is Prohibited. Ask the author first.
© 2006 johntaiyu
Published on Saturday, January 28, 2006.     Filed under: "Poetry"
Log In or Join (free) to see the special features here.

Comments on "The Slipping Away"

Log in to post comments.
  • A former member wrote: "who are they?/and am I they too?" So many perplexing questions...you have definately left me pondering. Wonderful piece. *Evangel*

Contribution Level

johntaiyu's Favorite Poets
Share/Save This Post



Join DarkPoetry Join to get a profile like this for yourself. It's quick and free.

How to Criticize Without Causing Offense
© 1998-2024 DarkPoetry LLC
Donate
[Join (free)]    [More Poetry]    [Get Help]    [Our Poets]    [Read Poems]    [Terms & Privacy]