The Minor Character


I wrote a book today,

Lied and called it ‘Ode to Myself’

It’s about me – as only

The minor character—

For me is what I call myself

But is not who I am

I’m many a part of you

And that’s why I had to

Subtitle the book

‘As There’s Nothing Else I Own’

For the name I’m given,

Many tend to use.

I was given a mind

But it’s gone

To the philosophies

That are selected

By what truth it is I find.

I’d believe in myself

But then I’d have to

Believe in you too

I don’t know if I can

Trust two people who

Are both out of their minds,

Invading another’s reasons to act

And actions of reason.

The book is at sixes and sevens

One chapter, and I was through.

I guess, it’s more a short story

With much more to scribble down,

But no more content to suggest

Yet, the editor’s still yelling

So I’ll plagiarize again,

Stealing from Solomon mines

With no respect for the dead.

circa 1995

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