It seems to me that nobody in this town
knows who they want to be.
So we coagulate here, in this city,
so we can scab over the truth
that nobody is anybody,
and we are fine with that.
But, what if,
the trees, the buildings, the cars, the people
are all not questions, but mirrors,
reflecting my identity, or lack there of.
. . .
It is soothing, at least, to know
that I don't know who I am.
No comments:
Post a Comment