Conjuring Identity

Conjuring Identity 

i fancy myself alive;
then, again i declare myself dead,
i tickle myself awake,
and wring myself asleep,
i clasp to things of old,
drain myself of new,
lick my wounds myself,
continually seek some truth –

i cling to mouths of dragons,
who write out my dreams,
and i cause my crows to shutter,
when i melt off into unconscious,
i dwell, as a buoy;
in the center of icebergs,
but, drizzle in fiery flames,
my toe nails annoy –
dried clusters of earth,
from burrowing in the ground;
playing hide-n-seek with tree roots,
{connecting as One}
i found my wings dripping with sky dew,
a flight breaking sound –

i fancy myself a nothing,
but an everything in between,
my night terrors keep me smitten,
on a world less traveled,
my daydreams are manifested,
by the pen of my Dragon –
safely collected in his annuels,
until i am alive;
or am i dead?
rationally speaking,
all of the above!

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