It's true that I'm a kind of complicated dame I don't even know my original name I've been changing the damn thing since I was younger A kid with a mixed up head, fervent for the hunger And I'm a baptized, stylized blue-collar boy A poetry, rotary expression of joy Stitched up with sidewalks and time clocks that rattle like thunder I'm a kid with a mixed up head fervent for the hunger When I dream, I dream in color But I mostly do not dream And I have seen God through the curtain when I'm just barely asleep She is holding out a basket full of scones and other treats I'm starving but there's nothing here I can eat It is true that I have tried on different faces before And toiled over things I'm not responsible for Captured by every philosophy trafficking wonder I was kid with a mixed up head, just fervent for the hunger And I'm a holy ghost, lamppost Poet of sorts A rain drop, machine shop Radio source Sutured with lip gloss and hot sauce and Indian summer's A kid with a mixed up head, fervent for the hunger When I dream, I dream in color But I mostly do not dream And I have seen God through the curtain when I'm just barely asleep She is holding out a basket full of scones and other treats I'm starving but there's nothing there I can eat And I'm finding new charcuteries Mix and match until I find a meal that's suiting me I tire of these spinning wheels Metaphysical combo meals, wholly illusory When I dream, I dream in color- though I mostly do not dream And I can see God through a curtain when I'm just barely asleep And she is holding me in silence, and she looks like me We are the same thing