But that's not a poem

You are what you are, I am what I am,

I am what you are, you are what I am

east meets west somewhere, but that’s not a poem

north cuts south just here, the intersection’s home.

Parallel lines converge if I look hard enough

the vanishing point’s real, the rest’s just a bluff

and you are what you are, I am what I am

and we meet someplace, though no-one gives a damn.

The mountain’s just a pile of atom crumbs

the city’s gone ballistic, traffic’s a bit glum

and we’re what we are, we are what we were

when freedom was love, when freedom was war.

All the roads are dust, and all flesh is grass

the world is a clan and everything must pass

and I am what you were, you are what I’ll be

and it takes a sec for you to morph to me.

I am what I am, you are what you are

north meets south someplace, in café and bazaar

and east too meets west always and everywhere

but that’s not a poem as far as I’m aware.

You are what you are, I am what I am

the diff’rence’s slim, hardly a nanogram

and I am he and she, you are we and us

but that’s not a poem, that’s not a verse.