Datsy

My relation to things

Objects 

Be one 

A sense of self

The stop sign corner store bench 

And things

Initially 

Outside of me become

Me 

Existing within

For a few years

Roaming these streets 

Back and forth

To work, store, church,

Up down left right

Break up, break downs

Job gained

And night terrors

Of loneliness and

Superbowl parties 

And the final

what seems-to-be-my end game 

and suddenly

To pass on to the other side

and survive for another year

These local markings

Become familiar intimate friends

That hold me

A sense of self becomes a place 

And place the self

Bound and marked 

By things and people 

Friend and buildings

And trees and 

Random street signs 

That seem to hold way too much meaning

Gives me meaning, purpose

Paper moon made of

Trader Joes paper bags

Collected over a life

What becomes of me 

Or them 

When I move on to the next town 

Streets signs and mail boxes 

And fences

And repeat it all again