Prebuttal

Myths of the matrix: questions

Nothing—

Can be—confirmed by this

Confinement of hoggery:

Do my ligaments ever meet

An isometric peace, like yesterday

Exists? Of course a soft

“No” contracts and courses through

My inculpating blood,

Working out the properties

If half is potential: do you ever hate

Something so much

You accidentally

Turn into it, letting it taint the oblivion

What I once was oblivious to

I’ve now loved

Like putting on clothes

Like wanting better stories, stuff,

Stuffing my face with never enough

Calories so I can fill the shrinking

Time within me

And the other myth is

That there’s a truth

I’ve gained access to: here,

There is only partial form.