Poem #7

Poem #7 (by neil) I do not hold on To the “I” you call neil. My body will become another body, Stronger with new cells, new cells will come again, bringing someone else’s week body. A voice will have a nuance, It will be alien to my voice. I will never be gone, Because the “I” that I hold on to, is already dead, has already been born, is dieing, is being born, will die, will be born, again, and again, and again. Again backwards, As well as forwards. The “I” I hold on to belongs to Earth, belongs to mass. neil Schaaf at age ten, he is a tree, a dog, a river, a car, a building, a vibration of noise, coming out of my stereo. How can I die Anymore than I have already died? Or anymore than I’m dieing now? The writer of this story sits next to you as you, as you read it, like a ghost with his arm around you. Meanwhile someone is calling something neil. Neil Schaaf