Autobiography
Swiftly, deftly, automatically, I
Dissect myself. Almost inhuman,
I open up wounds, removing, replacing,
Methodically processing pieces of me;
Observing objectively, gleaning data
And gaining ideas; reordering,
Re-arranging for cause and effect,
Hunting for stories: a narrative
Self-evaluation. My autopsy.
Cast
It's the world that you're lost in
The spell that you're under
The part you've been playing
Your big acting role.
It's the votes that elect you
Aspersions against you
The eyes that are on you
The dice that you roll.
It's the maths that predict you
The stitches that fix you
The plans that devise you
The plotting before.
It's the hounds that will hunt you
The hawks that will watch you
The line you've been hooked by
The lots that you draw.
It's the mould that will shape you
The plaster that binds you
The climate that bends you
The space you fit in.
It's the port you sail out from
The doubts you let go of
The clothes you change out of
Thrown off like a skin.
Cast it all off: a new chance to begin
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