Flat Earth
This globe is a lie, this city much
larger & the sun not a star at all
but a constant point without a name.
How do I know what is real & what
the world invented? I'll tell the truth:
before today only exists as memories
passed back from memories of
memories. Each copy retaining
less of what's original, this life, this bad
movie where no one remembers
except what they are told, & I don't trust
what I'm told. The world as unknowable
as snow falling inside this globe.
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