I recall having read somewhere,
how long ago perhaps not very relevant,
but where Dali had said that he was not a Surrealist,
that he was, instead, Surrealism itself.
Yes, my third favorite Catalan said,
I am not a surrealist; I am Surrealism!
And so, in a like way I say that I am not a writer,
that I am writing in itself writing,
yes, as I recall having said one time:
I am not a writer–I am writing!
What indeed is not pertinent–
impertinency being just as irrelevant–
as that writing in itself writing would be–
what it would be–
the words escaping me now
as often words escape their intention,
or my intention for them,
imposing on them what they may not mean . . .
not saying what they mean at saying . . .
I do not know who I am unless I do–
write, that is.
Writing is thus who I am?
How many of these can I write?