Who Am I?

Who am I?

I thought I would find the answer in the poetry,

Between the lines of words and the words of black ink,

All I found was bone and the scales of the paper,

Where was it? It remained elusive,

The letters commingled and cavorted and I thought that I would join in,

Yet I could not find the rhythm,

The continuous chime

Of the meter,

the tumbleweed down the rugged proclivity of rhyme,

What’s the measure?

The elements shifted to the same position

in limbo,

But I could not recognise my countenance in the rows of steely smiles.

For now I am displeased, discountenanced.

Maybe it lies behind,

Behind velveteen veils and metaphor

Behind terse words and turgid words

Behind rococo language and pithy expressions