How Do You Know?
How do you know,
You are not a wandering
Thread of consciousness
Wired to a body lying,
Lying in the arms of Morpheus?
These letters which your eyes follow And trace on screens or parchment
Are but mere signs flowing,
Flowing in a dormant mind?
Whilst this silent rhythm
Your narrator plays, is but a
Humming backdrop to a slumber’s tide?
How do you know,
There is no Evil Genie in
This world? Or a sea monster, his
Blue torso puffs from Aladdin’s lamp.
“If you would be a real seeker after truth,
it is necessary that at least once in your life you doubt,
as far as possible, all things.”
—Descartes
His Sierra shoulders shove daylight aside.
His voice cradles us into a lulling night.
Reality’s colors crawl in coded array,
The sun hangs a yellow ball above,
The grass grows verdant and true,
The genie greets cerulean in love,
How do you know what you see
Is not a perception’s prism askew?
How do you know,
You are not a coil of nerves floating,
Floating in a green translucent liquid?
The world, afloat in emerald thrall,
With nerves entwined, yours and mine,
And others’, connected to Mother Matrix.
Electricity sparks down the wires
And reaches you, shooting like stars.
And you see this world,
Read these verses and play their flow,
Bite the cold air and chew its chill.
Brush the ink andquestion yourself,
How do I know?