POEM: Suspended Disbelief: or, Oribtofrontal Cortex Down

Like Chuang-tzu,

I didn’t know whether a

butterfly dreamt me.

It wasn’t for lack of absurdity.

No.

Absurdity was in abundance.

 

Rather,

that block of brain that calls

bullshit

was sleeping.

 

It’s failed me before.

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