Multitudes by Matt Kane

  
  O baffled, balkd, bent to the very earth,  
  Oppressd with myself that I have dared to open my mouth,  
  Aware now that amid all that blab whose echoes recoil upon me I have  
      not once had the least idea who or what I am,  
  But that before all my arrogant poems the real Me stands yet  
      untouchd, untold, altogether unreachd,  
  Withdrawn far, mocking me with mock-congratulatory signs and bows,  
  With peals of distant ironical laughter at every word I have written,  
  Pointing in silence to these songs, and then to the sand beneath.  
