more Brats

(i'm still learning this blogger stuff, so please understand that this poem belongs at the end of posting Brats. cheers)


Chameleon

You see me
not, looking
at my skin;
my person
is to blend…
in. I can
assume that
look you want
to find, and
be myself
within. These
words are mine,
yet not, for
I give back
hers and his
and yours, all
honey on
the tongue, but
not my own
thought. I will
smile and smile
and take your
hand, or your
life, and all
the while be
elsewhere. And
when you think
to catch me
by some old
tale, I leave
it in your
hands and make
another.
My blood runs
cold and slug-
gish out of
the light; I
need the sun
or the sweet
heat of an
other to
revive me.
I have been
so many
now—been them
and shed them,
twinned them or
filled them—that
I over
spill, in truth:
I forget
my self, you
see. No? Well,
I am still.