Sleep eludes me
this spirit night
I ponder
nature of reality...

I stare at my ceiling
how do I know
my ceiling is not
really a floor...

Maybe the full moon
is really purple
perhaps I am
color blind...

As a poet
words make
my world real
words is what

my world is made of
I will make it
whatever I wish...

Maybe If I try
hard enough
at breakfast
to bend my fork
with pure will
shift my reality...

The nature
of reality
is hidden..

After all
I only have
five senses

Maybe six
all I know
since I found
love

I am not
who I was
before

and never will be...