I am not who I think I am—
I never said I was

Sometimes I’m
a monster—
swirling, yellowgreen skin,
bristly coils of
hair sticking
out,

strumlike underneath
your fingertips—

sometimes I’m
a normal guy,
angry and hungry
with greasy-tousled
greasy locks—

or a subaverage
woman,
curvy and compassionate,
warm *****
beckoning to all
bereft—

most often, I’m a
translucent ghost,
too little there
yet not enough gone,
genderless,
formless,
obsolete