I am, I am, I know I am.

I have been since so young.

I am who I know I am.

That I know,

shows what I am.

 

An oak is unaware,

I think,

of oakenness or tree.

Bacterium of

bacteriousness,

is absolutely free.

 

But, where lives

the knowingness,

that I am surely me?

That I am not

a rock, or coconut,

a rabbit or a flea.

 

Is the me,

that know's I'm me

in brain, or mind,

or where?

If mind it is,

then do I mind.

If brain,

then do I care?

 

The me that drinks

until I reel,

in alcoholic haze,

does not behave

like sober me,

but me is in

each guise.

 

If me survives

continuous

through liquor

poisoned cells.

Then surely me

must live beyond

the chemistry

within.

 

The thread of me

that lives on through,

the child

and the man.

In sickness, health

and drunkenness,

in waking, sleep

and trance,

may not survive

a damaged brain,

though body mine

lives on.

 

A comatose,

or cabbage me,

would not be me at all.

 

If mind, or soul,

or spirit me,

of cells were

fully free,

that pulp brained

sorely damaged man,

would surely still

be me.