Jump.

Published November 7, 2021 by April Fox
It's possible
that everything I thought I knew
was true
was false.

It's more likely, in the interest of objectivity
that it's probably a goulash of sorts
true, and not, and quite a few things that had had
the truth scraped away in order to show
the skeletal frame of deception.

It's certain, with very little margin of error
that I don't give a shit.

"You can't just turn it off
like flipping off a light switch."

But you can, if the bulb's been burnt out anyway
and you were only able to keep a hazy field of vision
by making light refract
from somewhere else.

It's already dark
flipping the switch just closes the circuit.

It's possible that I'm a little bit high,
taking a pause from responsibilities to
let a few words creep into my head
and out again
--and none of this
means anything
at all.

That's the one I'd gamble on.

I can look at the clock, now, and predict
when the next touch is coming
when I'll shift from blurry background prop
to something perfectly
but not at all sharply
focused
when I'll connect with this unfiltered life.

I can look at a few simple words scattered across a screen and tell
exactly where I'll be
when I close my eyes at night.

I can tell myself
with prejudice
that this is well-deserved.

I can watch the muscles of his forearm
jump as he leans forward
and know without a doubt
that this part is.

It's possible that everything I've said here is a lie

You never know.

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