What is I or me?
a brain in skull,
assumed human being?
What will define the shape
of my soul, in the realm of
things presumed and foul?

Am I beast to gnaw at bone
and meat?
Am I the moss of rocks near streets.
Where peasants shuffle of their feet
to catch the trail to the furnace
to be consumed by flames to be eaten.

I see the the ground open up
and show the dark beneath
then open my eyes
I see the sea of body passing
under the ship below me
then open my eyes
I see seven ghost on bed sides
then open my eyes
a bed in a plain white room,
with an old picture of you
painted in black and blue
and the deer lick the windows
trying to get in,
and chew on my hollow bones

just as real as the worlds
I spend my time
What will define the shape
of my soul, in the realm of
gods presumed,
and animals foul.
No answers to my questions,
and the moss grows on my head.