I am made of all the parts I have met
And of all those other parts that hit me.
To begin with, I borrowed a part of flesh
From some flesh being borrowed since………...…….........………........................... long ago.
Borrowed blood, veins, and all the pains
That we borrow from our partial mother ethos.
I even borrowed a heart, but I am in the act
Of returning it, assembling a new out of echoes.
My borrowing list cannot end here
And as parts of me you may also find:
Every shout! (... every hush...),
Every particle of stardust.
Each kind cuddle given by each partisan hand
And, why not?, each kind of kick on my butt.
And liar me if I said or wrote that these parts
In pairs of verses were not also parts of you.
Ah, lets listen to some bizarre musical part…
A melody for each piece partaken here.
To end this ever growing unfinished list, a fact:
Forthcoming parts of me are still being sown.
And when my parts have fallen apart, true Art
Will be the many parts my spare parts part of parts will be.
So how could I call my own properties my own,
When I need those parts to produce this song?
