What if the world is false
and we can only see its reality
in moments when our presence
in moments of chaos?
I know that chaos can destroy,
but can chaos heal?
Can one chaos fix another chaos that is already present,
a chaos that blisters and festers and rots inside?
I lay the tiny paper on my tongue -
How strange that something so small and thin
can trick your sight
and trap your thought
it tastes of bitter orange peel
I wait for thirty minutes,
anticipating that the walls behind me will begin breathing,
waiting for the illusions -
are they really illusions at all?
wanting this new chaos to close the rotting cracks inside
And now the floor begins to move
The trees circle and stretch and curl
into new dimensions always undulating never still
rippling surfaces unnatural movement swirling
fluid lines instead of cracks
I move with this world it loosens my limbs
and pulls me through space without effort
I feel strange but free from pain
What if this is real?
What if this is a window
into truth ?
(I hope so
It is better than a reality
unless, of course,
I lose myself
in all the swirling.)