Poem and image by Craig Boehman. Listen to spoken word version of "Clone" here.
You rhyme with me.
You are my sudden urge dew drop dance.
I saw you once in a jazz guitar instruction book.
It was like looking directly into the sun,
only you were blinded and I merely
turned the page.
I was at the mall one day long ago time
scoping girls and some guy came up to me
swearing up and down that I was you.
I had to convince him that I was not my clone
or vice versa.
Are you German or do you speak that old
tribal language? I was at a club called The Spot
in Kassle, Germany and another guy came up to me
and swore up and down that I was just another Bavarian
buddy of his trying to be American. I had picked up the accent
being there for so long and all I knew was
“Ich habe durst.”
I tell all our mutual friends I am looking for you.
I tell them with a straight face that they too,
should find their clones and kill them
lest they are murdered in self-defense.
The world ain’t big enough for the two of us.
All there is is suspicion and mistrust.
What else are reflections to think of one another?
I have listened to the sages and self-help gurus:
I seek myself.
But I do not look within.
I keep a lookout
I changed my name and Google tells me
you have reclaimed it as your own.
That didn’t take long!
I think I’ll hold onto this identity a little
while longer and fuck up my credit
and collect parking fines.
I won’t make it so easy for you
I am learning Mandarin Chinese and Urdu.
Or maybe I’m lying and it’s French and Bengali.
I will grow my hair long and chop it all off
smooth bald at the end of a growing season
in Northern Spain.
If we ever meet in persons, you will not know me.
I will already be behind you,
behind your mirror giving bad advice.
One of us will be gold in black sand.
One of us will be translucent, the other transparent.
One will laugh as the other cries.
Only one of us will remain standing nonchalantly
behind the yellow tape of
our crime scene.
Listen to spoken word version of "Clone" here