Think It's Me Poem by Gary Winkel

The conversation is orderly,
rather affected. Minds X,
intelligent. Empty.
No passion. I must be envious
of groups of three and hey,
how are you? See you tonight.
Laughter. No madness.
Chestnut hair on the shoulders.
Not knowing the wind or the borderline.
I'm not sure. I think it's me.
My world has become
a moon revolving
around a small planet.
Dreaming distance of space
listening to yet another song 'Angeline'.

The bass is very deep.
Quivers the delicate foundation.
I criticize your lies
as deep and as delicate.
I'm afraid that even today
I'll be deprived of information
that I need to see
the truth Johnny.
On the floor looking for heaven.
Letting others do the screaming.
Imagining the face of GOD.
She gives me a passing glance
from a mean spirited church.
I guess it's just me.

Morning is coffee and clouds.
This dance is another interpretation
easily misunderstood, often incomplete.
Never ending. Just kidding yourself.
Softly humming a lullaby,
a pocket religion
late at night to sleep.
Not a pretender.
Don't know who else
I can be. Oh lord.
Chewing the fat. Spanking the sanctuary.
It's so hard realizing
nobody's even flirting
with this intimacy.
It's me definitely.