Self-Portrait & Other Calculations

I’m not Czech

I’m not a woman

Unlike the man of tomorrow I wasn’t born yesterday

I will not haste away so soone

I’m not signing my John Hancock remotely using a robotic arm

          controlled by computer linkup to a macaque’s brain

I’m not concerned

More often than not I’m not

I don’t put aside waste fats for explosives

The song in my head stubbornly refuses to become the soundtrack

           to your life

I don’t chew the fat for plosives

The man in the soundproof booth is not on a first name basis

           with me myself or I

I can’t for the life of me

I’ve never tossed a perfect game

I’m not fluent

I’m not able to speak to express language effortlessly and correctly

           in a flowing and graceful manner

I’m not coming ’round the bend

I’ve never been a man for all seasons

I’m not concerned

I am, after all, not Antarctic

I don’t ticktock accounts of my days and weeks

I’m not edited to conform to the style of the true crime narrative

I’m not the canary in the coal mine

Heck, I’m not young at heart, like you

Which isn’t to say I’m not the villain I’m made out to be

I’m just not the father of my country type

The bee in my bonnet is not my special friend

Despite rumors to the contrary I have not ascended Everest

           since the fall

Jimmy crack corn and I don’t que

Sera, sera

I’m not the bird you’re forbidden to eat

I’m not happening in Cy Twombly’s Self-Portrait & Other Calculations

           #3

I’m not concerned

I love a cancelled parade

“Real art subsists on the clown’s red nose,” I said, not quite untruthfully

I’m not going anywhere soon

I’m not a beach read

I can’t (for the life of me) make the long story short

My father wasn’t the man behind the curtain

Steadicam tracking shots prove my mere existence

I’ll be the fellow in plaid seersucker with a handlebar moustache

           licking food stamps

I’m not what you might call conversant in the social graces

The instant replay may prove to be not inconclusive

The instant replay may prove to be not inconclusive

I’m not a hyphenate by nature

I’m not the egg-man

In the end, the sibyl in the lamp wasn’t so wrong

My mother sometimes took no for an answer

In America I’m no auslander

My mother wasn’t the mother of invention

By the time you need to find a man like me you’re already too late

I’m no stranger to life on the farm

One thinks inevitably until one doesn’t

One doesn’t think, does one

Meanwhile, my body will be reframed with tungsten

I’m not concerned

My daughter isn’t too young to learn to direct her gaze

to the psychic strands of herself and her sister

My daughter isn’t too young to learn to direct her gaze

           to the psychic strands of herself and her sister

I’m not a long walk

I just wasn’t suited for the role of third spear carrier from the left

I’m not a short pier

I prefer sheepberry, not black haw

My nickname in the underworld was not on everyone’s lips

I just don’t taste it

I’m not the rutabaga of all evil

I’m not concerned

That’s because Shippy has been working as stand-in for Peter on the set

           of Peter Jay Shippy a feature film shooting in Massachusetts

My name still draws a blank

I’m not averse

I’m not gravity defying

If I’m not truth telling I’ll give you one free punch

Ouch

For many years now my take has not been the long view

I’m not half the man you think I think I am

I’m not losing any sleep over that year in the Academy of Dreams

I’m not good with facts, go figure

My spandex, crime-fighting unitard isn’t easy on the eyes

Me?—not really

I’m not the kind of fish who buys the Sunday Times just for the crossword

You?—not me

I may not be the sharpest fox in the ax house but I know what I don’t know

My sweet similitude refers to nothing more than me

The police have nothing on me—I checked

Don’t shoot—I’m not the messenger

I’m not concerned

I’m not concerned

My only rule of thumb is that one ought not to repeat oneself

Je ne suis pas un pipefitter

Make thee know that I doth not live by bread only

No, I’m not the man I was

When it comes to a personal philosophy I’m nothing more

           than a fuzzy précis on the precipice

I don’t know when I’m not me until it’s too late

I’ve never killed a man for money—that’s not me—I’m American

“Peter is not religious,” Jesus said, “but there is a spiritual tension

           in his solar plexus—go ahead, punch him”

I’m not against having a go

I’m no longer seeing myself in this documentary

I’m not the sum of my parts

We all feel comfortable with ourselves

I’m not—check