Of the many men whom I am, whom we are,

        I ot settle on a single one.

        t to me uhing

        ted for anoty.

        o be set

        to selligence,

        the fool I keep cealed on my person

        takes over my talk and occupies my mouth.

        On ot

        of people of some distin,

        and when I summon my ceous self,

        a coely unknoo me

        son

        in a tiny reservations.

        ately s into flames,

        instead of the fireman I summon,

        an arsonist bursts on the se,

        and hing I    do.

        must I do to distinguish myself?

        myself together?

        All the books I read

        lionize dazzling hero figures,

        brimming h self-assurance.

        I die hem;

        and, in films he wind,

        I am left in envy of the cowboys,

        left admiring even the horses.

        But when I call upon my DAShING BEING,

        out es the same OLD LAZY SELF,

        and so I never kno hO I AM,

        nor how many I am, nor hO E ILL BE BEING.

        I o be able to touch a bell

        and call up my real self, truly me,

        because if I really need my proper self,

        I must not alloo disappear.

        ing, I am far away;

        and w.

        I so see if thing happens

        to ot does to me,

        to see if as many people are as I am,

        and if to themselves.

        hhly explored,

        I am going to sgs

        t, o explain my problems,

        I s of self, but of geography.
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