See

I am a cold body
under cold suede

I am the heat in my nostrils
the mist in my breath
the air, cold clouds
the threat of rain
the rain
what is rained on

I am the green of the stem the reaching rose the source that reaches
the sun it reaches for
the bee that drinks
the nectar clinging
            to my own legs

I am a dark lonely sound
in the house of myself
the intruder I'm afraid to meet

I am the child afraid
of the shadow beneath the bed
the shadow dispelled by light
the light
the parent
a child in my own arms

I am not
sleek and lithe
buff or rugged
lumberjack-handed
swimmer-bodied.
no money, no stuff,
no shiny objects
             tattoos
                 war wounds
                     an Oedipal complex
                        a wish to fly

I don't smell like a summer breeze
baby's breath
Old spice
or your father

My nails aren't trim

I don't wear
anything I bought with my own
                                        money
jewels or gold, holes in my ears
or lips or eyebrows
anything unstained
or hole, or fray
or perfect fit

I don't sound
like Clint
Ja Rule
smooth as silk
harsh as sand

What I am
you can't see.

          -Martin Williams