i am not
convinced this
world is
fully three dimensional
and not a
lenticular illusion
of insipidly paltry
plastic refractions
in pseudoscientific
lamentations.

a series of
artficial
ambiguities
a discombobulated
mass coaxed into
a dead language
to add a
grandiose flair
to spice up the
need to disprove
insignificance
in domesticated
regurgitations.

i need coffee
a purpose
a steady hand
to calm my
unsteady grasp
as i fire slugs into
the illusive frame
of unseen beauty
searching the
steaming entrails
for a fresh bezoar of
innocence stolen.

if the world is
truly three dimensional
how can my soul have been
folded up
so many times
discarded to the rear
of the junk drawer
yet still
awkwardly persist.

no.

we are the
control group
seasoned in chaos
and set loose
in a simulation
as shadowy figures
in white lab coats
watch us unravel
the shimmering code
making notes
on what not to do
so their future
is assured.

blabbering to
ourselves in
static ones and zeros
seeking order
in senseless deduction
an illusion of
three dimensions
until you see
the leaves begin
to pixelate
in summer’s last
pestilent embrace
and it all comes
crashing down
in virulent denials.