Identity

“Is that true?” they ask, when they want to know
About poems I’ve dreamt off somewhere to catch
Words snatched at “a point in time,” my mom would say
The cliché working well as they do, so become popular
Overused to meaninglessness? That assertion’s false
Because they’re perfectly correct, and I say, “Some
Parts of it did happen,” but if you really want to know
I write what I do that’s found somewhere out there
Or in here, my heart, my jumbled brain
A whelming up of energetic heat
I’ve never understood and would stumble about
Trying to explain how or where the words come from
Some supernatural flood of electric energy 
A blackout daze of time stopped and a place
Left behind for a time until I finally drift back
So if I ever want to know the real “me” in my poetry
I can tell you I take none of it for what I seem to be
My best guess coming if I stare between the lines
To figure out the wordless what of who I am