What am I? Who am I?

I’m just flesh, blood and bones?

I have a brain, I’m taught to think, I’m taught to love?

I attempt to write poetry, perhaps I do write poetry.

I create art, I think its good, some even great.

I don’t show in galleries, I don’t show in museums.

I work Monday thru Friday.

I love and hate.

I hate and love.

I even masturbate.

But really, who am I?

But just flesh and blood and bones.

Could I be anything if you were not here?

The one I’m talking too?

Would I be nothing without an audience?

Without participation?

A viewer? A listener?

Who am I?

What am I doing here?

Why am I here and not there - right now?

These are all unanswered questions.

© 2008 David Greg Harth

08.05.12.13:31:01@599NYC