I could not say
that I could only say.

I am, it seems, predisposed
to complicate, not to validate.

I think, therefore there is thinking.
I don't vouch for my antecedents.

Am I a meddler?  I dabble.
I miss novelty—mere recombination gets old.

I miss a lot more
of what I don't care about, or for.

Or that's how I remember it.
I can't think your thoughts about me.

The one thing I have been
is a thing that has never been one thing.