peerless crystal orbs filled with viscous coloured liquor boil 

emitting vapours the colour of their liquor

those who inhale them

breathe deeply

become intoxicated 

                                  mesmerized     ardently pursuing those delicious perfumes

they became amnesiacs who forget who they were

who then are founded anew

and forgotten again

the carpets and the surrounding cropped lawns out of doors are traipsed by happy

amnesiacs and re:amnesiacs

I introduced myself over and over again to the same faces who appeared as delighted

the third or fourth time 
as they were when first they met me

always smiling and relaxed

taking my hand emphatically between theirs

and after awhile   
the queerness in me flees

the queerness initially fed when introduced

                                                              I would say my name   and they were untroubled

unperplexed they hadnt a name

Then what shall I call you

I think  really  that does not matter  I do not think I will remember

it neither mattered or were introductions remembered

                                                                                                          they were always gay

they would always embrace me take me around the shoulders and wander me near the

orbs

insisting I enjoy

and when I graciously declined  they shrugged indifferently  inhaled deeply  and said

                                                                                                            See  there is no harm 

It is beautiful 

and inhaling again

                             smiling again      It is beautiful      You are beautiful                                                                                           inhaling                 Who are you

when you are asked who you are as many times as I was asked by these beatific faces

you begin to wonder yourself

were you this tag you introduced yourself as

were you who you said you were

                                                or were they more who they were than who they thought

themselves to be or could never remembered themselves   

                                                                                               to be

the orbs smoked incessantly

wafted or rose in blushed slender columns and spirals

their syrruptitious plumes

                            captured under wood eaves or against dappled ceilings melded and

swirled like galactic beginnings  surreal fabrics

                                                                               and were ever more ever more enticing

                                                                                                                         Who are you

are you who you are

0039,  Monday,  7  10. 13