Thatís Quite Presumptuous of Me


I am a bunch of aggregate,

Glued with some pretty fine paste;

Parts motivated by this unity

called me.


Me is who I am to me,

Whom I consider I;

I am who I am

when I am who I am,

and thatís when Iím me.


Iíve always assumed that I exist;

The very questioning of me,

Presumes me presuming.

Perhaps I have neglected to think

that this aggregate

has no reality beyond itís parts,

And self-consciousness is only a part,

swimming in the etheric void,

with the rest of the universe.


The screen of consciousness

reflects a viewer,

Who insists on trying

to run this ship;

Can I deal with voiding me,

The almighty captain,

If I am nobody

beyond this reflection?


How can somebody,

be a nobody?

Especially me?

Who is this somebody

I call me?


Empty though I may be,

This one part of me I call me,

Is very precious to me.

I wouldnít be who I am

With out me recognizing me.


For now I will presume that I exist,

So that I can enjoy my life.