To the Artist's Page                   To our home page

To Steve Mitchell's previous piece     To Steve Mitchell's next piece

I talked with my matrix the other day
To see what my essence had to say
AND THE MAD POET SAID
With a separate voice inside my head
"Meanings and fame and money and dread
And ALL the things the others have said
Mean nothing to me because I know  I am dead
Even as I stand here before you."
I cringed as I heard what myself said to me
In throes of that dark-bleak epiphany
Knowing that I would never be  free
From that man in my head who knows better than me
That existence is illusion/uncertainty
Made real by the shadow of doom