My poems reveal me
no longer,
diverse voices percolatwe
throughout, leaving
unsettled identities.

these identities give me
words whose skin
I break open and feel
the kaleidoscopic mind's
poverty of language.

I don't feel buzzing
around the edges
some crazy, wild, furious
guys may rip, split my legacy.

Through my poems,
I dare stepping out to
occupy my place
amid one huge quesadilla.

a thick veil,
a speck in the void,
miscellaneous rubbish,
these crazy, wild, furious guys.

My poems have nothing
to tell,
nothing left to tell;
identities keep fluttering around.