A Pocketful of Poesy was and is again a Poem-a-Day(-on-Average) Blog! For 2009, 2010, 2011, 2012, and now for 2017 and going forward, you may expect to see 365 poems every year, 366 for leap years.

but aren't they all random?

Saturday, February 01, 2020

1-man ilk

I am haply
as it turns,
or sadly a one
-man ilk; I have
never met my like. I'm
indifferent to the fact,
in fact. I wouldn't mind

meeting someone like that.
It might be cool!

I don't mean I'm unique
(well, I am - everyone is
there's nothing fucking
special
about unique) but
in the flat intersection
of characteristic aspects,
I must admit

I am curious
in both senses, one of which
is peculiar. And

I expect I haven't
exactly met myself
coming or going. I can't be
entirely sure. It's funny

but I've only just noticed
now? I mean,

it always
seemed perfectly normal
to me.

Why wouldn't I be
like everyone else is
(apparently): nothing alike?

I expect
every one
to be more or less
oneself (their own
one's self, naturally
- not mine!) And
they aren't. Mine,
I mean. They more or less
are their own. Something

entirely strange to get
used to! New. A universe
I've never seen
behind the other's
eyes - and I guess,
mine too.

Funny

I never thought about that.

Point is,
aren't we all?

A spreading, manifold
multifarious ilk
radiating into
such night-identical
points of alienation, nothing

like
each other.
Or any other
other, at that

point.

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