An SMS

saying: »Is that you?«

appears on the screen

I begin to erase the words

of the unknown sender

a miscalculated error

catching me at a bad moment

giving me chills and thrills

making me sick and making me whole –

how will I ever be able to answer that?

I – it's all about the EYE –

would love to belong,

to respond to an actual  

name and an address,

to feel and to

put in a song

the sameness of my people

to let it get under my skin

and crawl into my limbs

and sigh across my chest

and cry and bye and bye

–        it's all about the EYE –

devour what was left of my Why

and How and Who and Where

my pussy riot claws I think I'll spare

for days on end, just leave them there

Am striving to reach for the answer

somewhere in the abyss of the When

and the Now –

using so many capital letters

no one is actually going to believe me

Someone asking me who I was,

most likely a kid playing boss

aiming for friendship,

the more the better,

perfect value inflation

It's all about the answers and I –

it's all about the I –

don't seem to know

to grow

to flow

across the issue of Who

knowing only who claims me

as theirs

as ours and not some other's

piece of art. Fart.

thing is, I could go anywhere

and just dillute

change the color of my hair

and salute the obvious choice

the never-ending, ever-mending

shrill nightmare

of butchery in the name of belonging

in the name of belongings

in a society that uses thong-pins

and S&M sms's

dresses up

as people

when all it is is a beast

with a dollar sign for an eye

– It's truly all about the I –

beholders or not

we are sickening slippery beings

and if there is a choice we made

then we're consiously chosing

condescension in the name of the

superior breed of flesh

of dress of mess of less

than a poppy seed.

that's how big of an ego eagle you are,

I keep telling myself

so as not to go bonkers in Yonkers

so as to truly be –

it's all about the I and the BE –

worth the question

the sms question

the S&M question

the unanswerable question

of some whimpy kid

BE – it's all about the bee,

the flower and the tree –

free and see

and just claim the We

and the teeny tiny Bee

A tribe of so many

devoured entities

that we are

that we admit ourselves to be

keeps naming and taming

the nature of Me

keeps wining and dining

in the bowels of

mother-father earth

– Please, help yourselves to a

drilling of a hole in your

mother-father's chest!

pull them by the hair and

never let them rest! –

but truthfully

I don't think

my tribe wants my eyes to see

that being a human is shameful to me.

I pick up the phone and answer the kid

I write down my name in reply

and utter a slight imperceptible sigh

as the poppy seed bursts

and the answer is clear:

in capital letters of my

first and last name

I type the weird words:

"I don't think it's me."

yoyoba