i am the pile of rubbish in the middle of the intersection
i am the asterisk at the bottom of the page
i am the broken headphones
i am the shoe box under the bed
i am the clip on the name badge
i am a single blade on a fan
i am the saucer collecting the water the plant cannot hold
i am the hard–to–reach remains of the deodorant stick
i am one shoelace
but i am not both
i am the bag
and i am the zip tie
i am not the mirror
i am a spoke on your bike wheel
i am the fifth leg on the chair
i am the leaf lodged in your windshield wipers
i am this sentence, that you will forget later
i am the post holding up the drooping tree
i am the broken lead tip trapped in the sharpener
i am the ice melting in the cup
on second thought, i am more the ring left on the surface of the table
or maybe just the condensation on the cup
i am the tips of hair freshly cut
but not the blade used to cut them
i am the itch you cannot reach
i am the rock at the bottom of the pile
i am the calendar left unturned at the beginning of each month
i am the tattoos underneath the skin
i am the collar on the bottle, keeping the contents untouched
i am the strap on your guitar
i am the heel from a loaf of bread
i am the stitches in your skin, removed after a few days
i am the roommate you forgot you once had
i am the limb you cannot use
and the limb you never had
i am the cardboard left at the end of tape
i am the fold on the band-aid wrapper
i am the dot to the i
but not the cross to the t
i am the first dead leaf on the plant
and of the season
i am the mute feature on the television
and probably the mute button, too
i am ‘i love you’ stuck in your throat
i am an incorrect password entered
i am eyelids
i am dancing in the dark
i am the last time we meet, without us knowing it was the last time
i am the line that the dust pan will not collect
i am the memory of our last conversation
i am the streetlight in the dead of night, polluting the area no body is using
i am the train that i cannot outrun
i am the park bench, drenched in sprinkler water
and i am there, sitting on said bench
i am the sign for a missing pet, begging for a response even when not being read
and the stop sign nearby with the same job
i am the net to the basketball hoop, waving in the dry summer air
i am the four teeth, ripped from your face by the ground
i am the you that made this list
i will not be the you that did not
i am the backing to a sticker
i am the lopsided shot glass
i am your shadow, resurfacing when i need another to carry some weight
i am a key ring
specifically one slapped down on an unfixed countertop
i am the one you will never meet
and the content i will never enjoy
i am an old letter you are saving for reasons unclear to even you
i am also an old memory of the same accord
you are this screen, the one i am looking at
i am a pillow case
i am the screeching of the owl
i am the pothole, the one you drive into every day
i am another mind
i am the laundry detergent
i am the hole the thumb tack leaves in drywall
i am the blister forming from new shoes
i am the first coat of paint
i am the arms to glasses
and the nose and ears used to hold them up
i am the cinderblock free of debris
i am the watch, with the forever dead battery
i am the coins that add up
i am a key ring, again
i am an unwashed spoon
i am the cue ball
i am the jar of rocks kept to remember a good day
i am the paint, the remainder of such left in the jar for years
i am the cluttered studio
and the organized one too
i am the abnormally sized bug bite
i am the lid to the bottle or jar you cannot open
or maybe i am the jar that refuses to let go
i am the unfinished edition to the new issue
i am the idea, the one paused because of money
i am sweat, and the surprise of me during summer
i am the thoughts i want to put here, but dont quite have a hold on yet
i am the cheap beer it takes to forget you, even for just a second
i am the closed laptop
i am the unexpected gag
i am the pump of the lotion bottle
i am the head to the shower
i am the buttons on the touch screen
i am the dollar bills, tossed aside
i am the scissor blade collision
i am the love you didnt know you had
and sure, i can be the fear you rejected (but only until now)
i am the discussion that came from these lines, and the hope that we decided dove out from it
i am the dice, rolled
i am the annoyance that you still have more to read
and i am also that you have more to think
i am the sound the keys make to type this out
i am the eyes that will never see this
and the mind that will never want to
i am the second–to–last of anything you can think of
i am the bot trying to decipher this
but not the person, they can do that on their own & how they wish
i am the bags under the eyes
or maybe just one eye
i am the tunage that gets you boppin’
i am the lips you want your lips to join up with
i am the laugh given to the thing i take seriously
i am the lane about to end up ahead
i am the banner, trailing behind the airplane with an important message
i am the naked body you walk in on because of an unlocked bathroom door
and i am the broken lock to said door because of the unforgiveable restaurant owner
but i am not the one who knew it was unlocked, and entered spitefully
i am fast asleep
i am the page, waiting to see this line
i am listening, intently (to all the barking dogs)
i am the one pulled over on the side of the road, to write this
i am the broken lid on the garbage can
i am the spiders web lodged under the cars tire that hasnt moved in a decade
and the dirt and grime gathered up on top of the exterior of that same car
and the parking ticket on the windshield
but not the feelings or the words displayed about said ticket
i am one two three
and ay bee sea... i guess
i am the wall, the one broken down piece you have of it
and the ones you put up to block me and anyone else out (just know we will knock for all of eternity
i am the difference between writing and reading this
i am also not that at all, in the exact same regard
i am now two unwashed spoons
i am the way you hold a bottle with people around
and the way you hold it in the comfort of your room
i am the ship–shape, the pitter–patter, the one–two it takes you to get to your destination
i am the you you feel along the way
i am the hair twirled, unaware it was about to be touched
i am the next segment of sidewalk, if you are moving or not
i am a telephone pole with no line
i am an ignored speed limit
i am the flag, the one you kneel to
i am the line i wanted to write, but didnt identify with
i am the golf ball in the drywall
i am the boot, the one that kicked the wireless telephone pole from before
i am the click clack of the shoes across the hall
i am the saliva it takes to seal the envelope
i am the friend you use when they are not around
i am the unknown presence at the door
and the shadows on the wall
i am the unanswered phone call
i am the questions you have in your head
and the ones you let loose
i am the episodes as they automatically play through the night and you fall asleep
i am the nickname
i am tires off the track
i am the fly buzzing on the skin
and the eyebrows turned to bleach
the cracked skull on the pavement
and whatever color this text turns out to be for you
i am the finished beer can
i am the conversation brought up about but never spoken upon
i am the ring, turned over and over and over and
i am the words you once told me to mark
i am palms out, dripping wet
i am two keys pressed at once and an accidental capital lock
i am the bridge, the one you are falling away from
i am the classic out of gas sound
i am the plugged up nose
i am not needing you
i am vibrations on the hospital bed
i am the white space on the page
i am the rack holding the clothes that are worn, for seconds at a time
i am neither the oil or the water, but the separation of the two
i am the shovel stuck on the roof
i am the broken down barbed wire
i am the cluttered pile that once was standing tall
i am here, waiting for your glimpses
i am the hummingbird, standing motionless for a second or two
i am the glistens and the the ripples of the puddle
i am holding down the right click
i am voices in the hall
i am the place you tend to be
i am the hazard lights on the car pulled over
i am the vent on the sun roof
i am the sun falling through the sky
i am going my own pace
i am the rocking up down of a shoulder in the wind
i am the drifting wood in the river
and the one on the warehouse floor, tossed into the container
i am something left in the way
i am the surrounding air hugging every bit of you at all times
i am the you, whether i believe it or not
i am the i
i am to be continued

2020 – 20??, from the sketchbook of thoughts, expanded from dylan posts letters