I wish I were an I, some gathered locus of selves, remarkable.
A fullness that might be characterized, signified.
Even the assortment of lines that structure my name – hundreds of corners and swerves, crossings and redirections, don’t represent much of me.
And the little pronouns – they might direct one toward the objective subject that I am, but they’re pointing everywhere.
So I scribble, sketch, doodle and draw, adding lines upon lines, erasing, rewriting, deleting and searching thesauri and definitions…
It comes out looking like this:
or sometimes this:
signs and diagrams, theoretical possibilities, charts and patterns, fantasies, dreams
ever in search of the neologism
some necessary invented term