By Chris Wilmot
Time is only an illusion in this, my mind.
I have found the key to the universe.
Chained right outside the prison
Bars that have been built
by me, by the world, by
all who could have wanted it
to not be.
I try so faintly to grab the ring
upon which the altar of many
millennium of philosophy lies.
Like a prisoner in the prison
of life we have made with
these frail water / flesh things
we all carry about. We call
them our “selves” but is that
really us? What underlying anything
changes between me and her? Are
we started actually the same- from
a clean slate? Or with the slate
theory, maybe it wasn’t quite erased.
Anyway,
I have found the key.
But I am not willing to cut my arm off
to reach it.