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Make a name for yourself;
it's not really yours,
it's never been yours,
it's donated, used
over and over
before, worn
like old clothes
from the Sally Ann
bought and
paid for.
You're a has-been,
in re-runs,
whatshisname,
looks familiar.
Come from afar
like a name scrawled
on a ship's manifest
in faded ink,
spoken for,
a dropped syllable
uttered
shortened
anglicized
unoriginal
to fit in,
not an exact copy
but the same stuff
twisted
into a new shape,
and once
you're gone
you're gone
soon forgotten
with traces
of resemblance
in the next version.
The folly of thinking we are unique! The illusion! When we are just a recycled version of the same DNA, the same molecules, the same matter (that, as the theory goes, is perpetually conserved). "Not an exact copy/but the same stuff/twisted/into a new shape" ... love it!
ReplyDeleteThe poem is a call to humility. As Lenny Bruce used to say: "we're all the same shmuck".