I’m a young man
but what else am I
the stone of the earth
the stars in the sky?
I’m an American
but must be more
white male, middle class
near decade number four.
I’m a married man
with an adoring wife
but what is this man
to this man’s life?
What are my bones,
my flesh, my teeth
that flash like fangs
when I stand to speak?
My thoughts created
with a mysterious mind
that begs to devour
what it cannot find.
I’m a young man,
no title to state,
no walnut placard
with etched gold plate.
No land to claim
or party to cheer
or published works
proving I’ve been here.
I’m a young man
condemned to be free
searching in vain
for identity.
The atoms suggest
it is we, not me,
electrified orbs
of conductivity.