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Joseph Aprile
Who am I?
Who am i?
a bit of madame bovary
and oliver twist,
casey stengel
and lord cromwell,
shakespeare and hamlet
and betty boop.
Who am i?
a well,
a title,
a black mustache,
a prison,
a cathedral,
mussolini's horse,
am i a tapestry
or a tie dye prince,
a cathedral
or a pauper's cove,
a cave of the spirit
or a spire of finance.
am i a winged hope?
or a plutonium bomb,
am i linguistically sound?
a copper kettle,
the upper lip from houdini's grave.
Who am i?
to lie in puny arguments
on my way to the end,
to flirt with the present
but reside in the spleen,
am i a bald musician,
have i lost my concerto,
who am i?
am i climbing a mountain
or donning my socks,
am i kissing and sneezing
or just blowing,
am i growing,
am i a mule or a lyre,
a mistress
or a lover of only nadir moments.
Who am i?
pass the joint,
kindly move the room aside
allowing me ventilation,
potted plant,
negro chant,
help me i'm falling in love
with your marbles.
Who am i?
one nursery room rhyme after another,
then where was me
can't you see the trees in a row,
barren
and yet grow.
Who am i?
i can't discern my wases,
where is sandra?
where is beatrice,
where is jim,
where is the cantaloupe vendor,
where is betty with her warhol dreams,
where is mary with her black memories,
where is king kong
and jungle jim,
where are the african nightmares
and romilar evenings,
where is mickey finn,
and marion and marilyn and gunga din?
where is the sap of my tortured past.
Who am i?
i inject 100 mice to give them carcinoma,
who am i
the leg of a frog,
a tiny hair in the crotch,
a joint in the toe of the queen of the soul,
she asked me my name,
i enrolled her,
i write often with my tongue hanging out.
Who am i?
the air within a flute
as seen within the eye of a newt
in some muddy martian stream,
who am i?
am i the ego's darling,
boy wonder's brain
crowded with the various vials of poisons
ready to be opened,
dark vaporous jealousies,
yellow envy,
venomous pride.
Who am i?
opinionated,
discerning,
am i learning,
who am i?
what is this dance i do
on this stage
reading my lines at the orphanage
waiting for the batter to rise.
Who am i?
in the focus of the rising sun
at the elbow of the moon
by the nocturnal seacoast,
windblown wrath of mountain,
who am i?
is it written in my palm
at the summation of planets
near the end of a dream,
who am i?
subterranean,
sea level,
interplanetary,
numerically zero,
nobody,
nobody's son.
Who am i?
did my mother whisper it when i was asleep,
is it floating in my sinus cavities,
is it verse,
am i really that neanderthalic,
who am i?
is it phallic,
in the confession of my erection,
in my gonadotropic soul.
Who am i?
a juke box aria,
a scale from the whale of sea,
come out and honk my horn tonight,
am i born?
or thought,
or tree,
illustrious novacain weekend,
am i whimsical,
am i free.
Who am i?
i've lost my placenta,
am i my vision's limit,
am i debris,
who am i?
an assembly of vehicles, wheels and pivots,
a belly,
a play dough brain,
a predator of the world's protoplasm.
Who am i?
can you tell me who is writing,
or who is whispering in my ear,
i lost it in my mother's vagina
on the way out,
my eyes descended from the jellyfish.
Who am i?
the vehemence of my father,
mother's specialized love,
street corner wisdom,
mr. bloom have you read my manuscript.
Who am i?
oral,
scrotal,
mental,
i look for god inside my penitentiary.
Who am i?
a cabin in the north woods,
the great temple of mub,
an urban cubicle,
and where is my center,
and behind what storm,
near what great exhausted empire,
who shares my soul's visions,
who am i?
Who am i?
a bit of madame bovary
and oliver twist,
casey stengel
and lord cromwell,
shakespeare and hamlet
and betty boop.
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