Listening to Whispers
Copyright, Neva J. Howell
For weeks, or ages, I've been walking in space.
Surrounded by all these whispering realities
Whispers that say anything at all is solid
Whispers that tell me I am solid
What happens if I stop listening to the whispers
that speak of a reality I no longer support?
Who is the I that no longer supports this
appearance of reality that must be held up
by constant whispers of what it is. If it is,
no one need say it so it must be that it is
not. Who is it that knows that?
My hand touches the keyboard
A keyboard made of molecules of imagination,
whispers of something real.
What happens if I stop listening to the whispers
that speak of doing anything at all?
What happens when the whispers stop
Ringing Cedars
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