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Some Degree of Certainty.

Our senses deceive us.
Memory is literally a process of re-membering.
Present and past remain as uncertain
as the future.

Contradiction inherent in the notion
of self-observation, now realized.
What can be witnessed cannot be me.
So it seems I even remain asleep
to my own damn identity.

Unknown down deep
in the subliminal
hiding, gestating,
imprisoned and raging…

I know nothing.

Just drowning in a sea of maybe,
head above water, screaming out
for some degree of certainty.

I will never settle for belief.


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