Who I am not (Parts I-IV)
My dog flees from pluckèd strings;
her fleas command my tune.
What hollow body holds a rhyme
as long as my neck’s breath?
I could domesticate myself,
but in taming our lions
we tame our pride.
My brother is his brother’s keeper.
I am uncle to no abomination.
As we lay in the Garden,
(our hair in the earth)
Is Heaven above
because our heads are the seat of doubt, or
because our feet are the root of evil?
I was not breast fed.
I am not a fountain.
I will not hector you.
Even if He and I practice Our secret handshake
in the Sistine Chapel;
Even if He sends me an angelic bath basket
with ambrosial soul cleanser
and holy bubble bombs
(courtesy of The Body Shop);
Even if I am the round reflection
of an ever-changing God;
I still have to ask:
Is Heaven above?
Because my head is the seat of doubt.
You are mistaken. Let's discuss it.
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