Existence

You search for meaning

behind things, dear Confabulo

what did you find?  Two syllables

the first of which denotes

one of existence’s paired faces:

me – the self inside where everything

else is ‘ning’ which, peering in or

peering out, may or  may not exist

depending on the view or on the viewer.

 

Let us not seek meanings then, but

me-things – a symbiotic notion to be true

but more approximately this poem’s bent;

a yellow page, a finger lettering ink, is this

not what you see Confabulo, can you see

me here writing in your mind –  are we

inside or out Confabulo, you and I

and all the rest of them viewing their

pages from the inside out, is that all

there is or are the viewers themselves

an illusion?  Now there’s a thought –

leaving but a ‘ning’ that writes itself

upon an endless page.

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© Johnmichael Simon

2007

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