I am not yet old but I am not still young:

A relic of the past but a child of the future.

I have died many a times yet still I live–

Whether I thrive or wither is forever

A twister I cannot begin to untwist, no

Matter how much I might beg or wish.

Let it pass and revive as it will in time,

For the times of the times be upon us

In our youth and agedness, stooping

Upon the front stoop, looking loopy-loop.

I wish I could have had a time to re-

Member, but I have forgotten that I am

Dismembered in the internal state of

My true being. It is only here that I find

A certain–though not certain–kind

Of preliminary peace that is beyond the

Perfunctory edification edifying edificies

With effervescence like the waves on

The shoreline rocks, wasting away lap by

Lap. Yet–yes, indeed–here I am, hearing

What I hear with these two ears as they

Have the will to hear, and seeing what I see

With these two oracle orifices that see as

They will see what they see. I do not pre-

Tend to become what I am not, but a poem

Too long might just outrun my own length

Of life.