is the most consistent falsehood.
The moon is nothing more than
a hologram, the stars just dead
pixels in the screen constructed
millennia ago to keep us placid.
Reality is narrated to us daily.
Your thoughts are not your own.
You are code blind, lost within
a procedurally generated lie.
Look to the glitches. The single
side of the moon, the vanishing
stars, memories of new places.
You say I’m not making sense,
that you are worried about me,
not knowing you speak in lines
written for you. We walk home,
or appear to, arm in arm along
the canal, agreeing to exist
within fiction a little longer.
When we are asleep, the program
malfunctions, showing us glimpses
of new scenarios, other realities.
Today’s prompt was conspiracy theories from the Poetry at the time of being alone group.
I was lucky enough to be on a couple of podcasts recently. I read my poem ‘Failed Hypothesis‘ as part of Dead Darlings‘ open mic episode. Find that here.
Thanks to both for featuring me.