Overt Literary References

I am alive and breathing,

You are the first, on the left-hand page.

I am living in a terrace house,

You are a shout in the ancient streets and alleyways.

I am stood at the bus stop,

You are the site where the future saint was just wounded.

I am mooching, just walking through town,

You are layers of the city’s topographical palimpsest.

I am clamped, still working it out,

You are recording, and informing on worlds events.

I am clumsy with words sometimes,

You are ironic, ambiguous and sometimes you’re heard.

I am trying to learn,

You are the overt literary references.

I am nice and friendly,

You are only a symbol of reconciliation.

I could count my friends on my fingers,

You are lingering, fuelling old fears.

I am hanging to a humble outlook,

You are patriotic, historic, above all aesthetically artistic.

I am taking each day as it comes,

You are fifty drafts long and then done.

I am one in seven billion,

You are published and indefinitely reproducible.

I may not be very interesting,

But you, you may not be real.