SOLIPSISM WHEEL AND BOB
The
only thing we can be sure of being real
are
the qualia of our perceptions, the edited
universe
of our sensorium: the sullen embers
of dying stars, the wheeling galaxies
streaming
cold
glitter, the spaces between them,
the turning prayer-wheels of planets,
this
planet Earth, are only certain in our skulls,
which coincidentally are the only places
where
gods,
and magic, and mythical beasts can be found
in their natural habitat, being laid down
as layers
of
synaptic proteins.
I know I am.
Cogito ergo sum.
I’m not sure about you.
But then suddenly
you arise, the perfect
and you, only you
and you only
exist.
Comments
Post a Comment