Face the Strange

Do not imagine I am less myself
When I am elsewhere than my normal haunts.
I do not shove my soul onto a shelf
With my collection of stuffed megadonts
To gather dino dust and be forgotten
Until the weight of time has made them stone.
No, I do nothing quite so misbegotten;
I am myself companioned and alone,
In warm familiar comforts and cold strange
Distant metropolises where I wander
Around their unrememberable range;
Myself no matter what I have to ponder,
Always at heart the same, and therefore true
To my eternal self, my life, and you.