In my pseudonymous works

‘ there is not a single word which is mine’
there is only this third person
this second person this first person
who shall speak for me in different
tongues and minds, there is no
knowledge of their meaning
except as a reader expressing
himself now, in relation to myself
not, it is now his private relationship
to himself opening to himself
revealing himself, and I will
not be responsible. He is now
giving himself, and devouring
himself when I am not looking.
I take the door, I take the exit
Now he comes, he then lives.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!