The disconnect between reality and
the inside and
the outer world
and
then there is me.
standing, usually
somewhere between.
What is real?
How do you know?
How do I know?
When those worlds do not intersect cleanly
and leave their jagged little edges
who is there to turn to
and remark upon their beautiful shapes
the dancing that the light makes when traveling across them?
and I
still standing
see and absorb
yet
for what?
For whom?
Is it for no one?
