Poetry

Built Upon Ethereal

May 5, 2009

I am wrapped in a cocoon of flat fields of vision,
retinas burnt to screens
to comb the depths of a world
where none have ever been,
creating things I can’t really touch
and playing games where I don’t play.
And at times I wonder
if what isn’t really there
is worth anything at all,
or if, like a world built on credit
we’re banking on something
that may never really be real.

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